


Worth The Wait

by TheLadyZephyr



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Brett who knows Matt is Daredevil, Canon-Typical Violence, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Season/Series 03, Protective Matt, Supernatural Murder Mystery, badass Foggy, investigator Karen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-11-28 12:45:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18208490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyZephyr/pseuds/TheLadyZephyr
Summary: The best time to realise you’re in love with your best friend? Not after you’ve convinced him to pretend to be in love you for an elaborate ruse designed to lure a supernatural murderer into a trap.Friendships have been reforged at the law firm of Nelson, Murdock and Page, but a series of brutal murders push Foggy, Matt and Karen’s lives back into chaos as they try to track down the killer responsible.





	1. CHAPTER 1: FOGGY

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go, folks! This story is written in its entirety, and will clock in at just over 30,000 words. I hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> \- Zee

“To Nelson, Murdock and Page!”

Foggy leant forward to clink his glass against Karen’s and Matt’s, grinning like a dork and feeling loose limbed and relaxed. It was far too hot, Josie’s outdated air conditioner overtaxed by the larger than usual Friday night crowd, and the three of them were squished together on a bench that was designed for two people at best. Regardless, Foggy couldn’t remember being happier.

“I think you mean Page, Nelson and Murdock,” Karen said, eyes shining and cheeks flushed.

“Is this a mutiny?” Foggy demanded, mock serious. “Circle the wagons, Matt, the crew is rallying against us!”

Matt hid a grin behind his beer bottle. “I think you’re mixing your metaphors there, buddy.”

“Some first mate you are,” Foggy scoffed. “Karen, you are hereby promoted. Nelson, Page, and Murdock; that’s my final offer.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Nelson, but I graciously accept,” she replied gravely.

“Hah!” he said, pointing a finger, “suck it, Matt!”

Matt laughed, throwing his head back like he used to do in college. It made Foggy glad to see it; it’d been far too long since Matt had laughed that easily.

“Really Karen,” Matt said, laughter lingering in the crinkles around his eyes, “you were amazing today. We’d never have won that case without you.”

Foggy nodded enthusiastically. “Best damn investigator in the city!”

She beamed at them. “Well, what good is an investigator without her trusty lawyer sidekicks?” she asked, raising her glass in mock salute.

“Sidekicks?!” Foggy gasped, feigning outrage with a hand clutched to his heart. “Matt, she called us sidekicks!”

Matt shrugged. “Well, she did do about eighty percent of the work on this case...”

“Treason! Betrayal! I won’t stand by and listen to my good name be slandered, Mr Murdock!”

Foggy reached up to scruff up Matt’s hair. It was a testament to the amount of goodwill that they were all feeling that Matt didn’t stop him, letting out a half-hearted “Hey!” while Karen giggled.

Matt smoothed his hair back down, and drank the last of his beer.

“That’s me done,” he said regretfully, placing the bottle back on the table and sliding out of their tiny booth. “I need to get going.”

Foggy and Karen both booed.

Karen picked up the nearly full bottle of liquor that she and Foggy were sharing and brandished it at him. “Come on Matt, if you don’t help us finish this, imagine the trouble Foggy and I could get into.”

Matt crossed his arms and huffed out an amused breath.

“It’s your sacred duty to protect the citizens of this city,” Karen continued while Foggy nodded, “and we are in _serious_ need of protecting.”

Matt was fighting back a smile, but Foggy could see the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “Serious need of protecting?” he asked, raising his eyebrows behind his glasses.

“Very serious,” Foggy replied, batting his eyelashes at him dramatically and lowering his voice. “Please Mr. Devil, sir, won’t you save us?”

“Fine, fine!” Matt laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “Consider Murdock yours for the evening, Nelson and Page.”

Karen cheered, and Foggy pumped his fist, elated. In the few months since they’d reopened the firm Matt had been doing an admirable job of balancing his two lives, but it was still rare for him to take an entire night off.

“Get yourself a glass, buddy, and get to work on sharing the load of tomorrow’s hangover!” Foggy ordered, taking the bottle from Karen to top up their glasses.

Matt scooped up his cane, shaking his head fondly, and made his careful way through the crowd to the bar. Watching him go, Foggy nearly snorted out a mouthful of his whiskey. The back of Matt’s hair was still sticking up haphazardly where Foggy had ruffled it earlier. He made eye contact with Karen and they both dissolved into a fit of giggles.

“Seriously Foggy, you killed it today,” Karen told him as they watched Matt. “I never get tired of watching the two of you kick ass together in the courtroom.”

Over at the bar, Matt was waiting for Josie to finish serving a pair of bikers, standing between them and a pretty Latina woman in a blue dress. His hair floof looked ridiculous.

“We are indeed awesome,” Foggy agreed, then snorted in amusement as the lady in the blue dress noticed Matt and did a double take. “Unbelievable,” he murmured, watching her eyes rove slowly down the line of Matt’s body where he leant against the bar on one elbow.

The woman bent forward to say something to Matt, and he tilted his head in the way Foggy had learnt meant he was focusing his senses. Whatever Matt said in reply made her laugh, and when Foggy glanced back at Karen she was shaking her head and looking amused. 

Matt turned away from the woman to speak to Josie, and her gaze snagged on the chunk of hair Foggy had displaced. She tapped him on the shoulder and Foggy grinned when Matt’s charming smile slipped away to confusion. He reached up to feel his hair, looking sheepish. Then he leant down towards the woman, smile back in place.

 _Incorrigible,_ Foggy thought with a sigh as she dithered for a flustered second before reaching up to smooth Matt’s hair down for him.

“Don’t bail on us, Murdock,” Foggy warned, not raising his voice. Matt smirked; he’d heard.

Matt opened his mouth, but before he could speak a scowling man stepped up behind the woman in blue and placed a hand on her shoulder. The three of them exchanged a few sentences, and Matt was frowning at their backs when the newcomer drew the lady away. He stayed at the bar, head cocked to the side, for a few moments after they’d stepped outside, then shook his head and crossed back over to Foggy and Karen.

“Matthew Murdock, are you hitting on women in front of their boyfriends?” Karen asked as he sat back down next to Foggy.

“Brother, I think,” said Matt, reaching for the bottle to fill his glass, “and I wasn’t going to abandon you.”

“A likely story,” said Foggy. “Quick, Karen, get him drunk so he can’t get away from us!”

“I’m not going anywhere, Fog,” Matt said with a smile, and Foggy had to resist the urge to rough up his hair again.

They worked their way through most of the bottle, until the room was spinning and Karen was snoozing contentedly on Foggy’s shoulder. Drunk Matt was as delightful as ever, reminding Foggy of their college days with his dorky grins and unashamed laughter. It was the kind of perfect, carefree night that had seemed so astronomically out of his reach six months ago, when he was waking up in a cold sweat from nightmares that were barely any worse than reality.

Things still weren’t perfect, but for the first time in years Foggy was starting to believe that he might get to actually _keep_ this. That the life they’d built from the wreckage of the past wasn’t going to come crumbling down around him.

“We should probably call it a night, if you two are just going to sleep,” Matt murmured. Foggy opened his eyes, blinking, looking around to see Matt slumped against the back of their booth. The movement made Karen’s head slip off his shoulder.

“Who’s sleeping?” she asked groggily.

“Your heartrates are practically comatose,” Matt laughed softly, but he didn’t make any move to get up, head tilted back, eyes closed and glasses nearly dangling off the end of his nose.

“Alright troops!” Foggy clapped his hands loudly, causing both of his friends to make unhappy noises at him. “Time to make a strategic retreat.”

Karen stretched and got to her feet, keeping one hand on their table to help retain her balance.

“Come on Matty,” Foggy said, poking Matt in the side, “I don’t need super hearing to know that you’re just as close to comatose as we are.”

Matt sighed like Foggy was making entirely unreasonable requests, and stood up, shuffling backwards to make room. Foggy snagged his arm when Matt started listing to one side, and Matt clutched at him, giving his head a little shake. The motion dislodged his glasses off his nose and the two of them fumbled to catch them.

“You are so gone, buddy,” Foggy laughed, sliding Matt’s glasses into his shirt pocket.

“I plead the fifth,” Matt replied, gripping at Foggy’s elbow and orienting towards the door.

The three of them staggered out of the bar, after Foggy had given Josie a cheerful wave and received a grunt and a nod in return. Karen took the first cab, giving them both a kiss on the cheek and getting into the taxi with more co-ordination than Foggy could usually manage after the amount of alcohol they’d consumed.

Foggy flagged down another, but when he turned to Matt to ask if he wanted it Matt had his face turned down the street in the other direction. Foggy looked up in time to see a cop car speed past the intersection that Matt was focused on, siren wailing. Concerned, he watched Matt track the noise and took in his friend’s pinched expression.

“Alright, you’re crashing on my couch tonight,” he said, pushing Matt gently into the cab. Matt wrinkled his brow, expression uncharacteristically bare without his glasses. “No arguments, Mr. Sad Face,” Foggy continued, sliding in and giving the driver his address.

They rode in silence for a couple of minutes, and a glance to the side showed Foggy that Matt was still frowning. “Foggy,” he started softly before trailing off. “I wouldn’t…”

 _Wouldn’t go parkouring around rooftops in search of criminal activity when I’m too drunk to stand up unassisted,_ Foggy silently finished for him.

“I know, Matt.”

Matt bit at his lip, fiddling with the strap on his cane, and didn’t say anything.

Foggy sighed. “It’s not that I don’t trust you not to… go out. I’m just trying to… to help, buddy.”

“…help?”

“I thought it might be easier to have something else to focus on. Help you filter the rest out.” He watched the street lights speeding by, letting the silence grow again. His head was already starting to hurt, the tension of the mood in the cab replacing the carefree floatiness he’d felt earlier in the evening.

Matt’s fingertips touched lightly against the back of his hand, and Foggy jumped, startled. Matt was leaning towards him, unseeing eyes fixed somewhere around Foggy’s left cheek.

“Thanks, Fog,” he said softly, mustering up a tremulous smile.

Foggy swallowed, trying to keep his breathing steady through the wave of relief.

“No worries Matt.”

* * *

It took Foggy a good ten seconds after he woke up to realise that the awful, piercing noise was just his phone. The angle of sunlight through his window suggested it was well past the time he usually got out of bed; he hadn’t set any alarms last night. He forced himself upright with a groan, clutching at his aching head and looking blearily at the screen. The text he’d sent to Karen last night letting her know that Matt was staying with him was still open, and the incoming call was from her.

“Karen,” he croaked as he answered, “I am officially too old for shenanigans.”

There was a beat of silence before she answered.

“Foggy.”

The shake in her voice had him lurching up like he’d been dowsed in a bucket of ice water. “Karen, what’s wrong?”

“Tell Matt I’m so sorry,” Karen whispered, and Foggy could barely hear Matt opening his bedroom door over the blood thudding in his own ears.

“What happened?” Foggy asked again, numbly watching Matt walk into the room in his boxers. He was remarkably low on bruises at the moment.

“Have you seen the news?”

Matt stopped mid stride, tilting his head down to the floor below to listen. After a few seconds he went pale as a ghost, and Foggy scrambled out of bed and into the living room, fumbling with his tv remote. He found the right button and switched it on with shaking fingers.

 _“—say they don’t yet have many details on this brutal killing.”_ A sombre faced reporter was standing across the street from an apartment building crawling with police and crime scene personnel. With a sharp jolt of recognition Foggy realised he knew the place; it was barely two blocks from Josie’s.

_“Authorities have identified the victim as Hells Kitchen local Carla Estrada…”_

Foggy hissed in a breath. There was a photo on the screen.

_“…Ms Estrada’s brother, Anthony Estrada, is wanted for questioning by the NYPD…”_

“Who is it?” Matt asked quietly, making Foggy jump; he hadn’t heard him coming up behind him.

_“…information, please call the number on your screen now…”_

“Matt…” he breathed. Matt’s hands were balled into white knuckled fists, the scars on his chest standing out in sharp relief against his taught muscles.

“Who is it, Foggy?” Matt snapped, and Foggy took a half step towards him, holding out a hand like he was trying to stop an animal from bolting.

“It’s the lady from the bar, Matt, the one you—" he cut himself off as Matt spun away and snatched his suit pants off the coffee table. “Matt, Matty, where are you going?”

Matt ignored him, pulling on his pants with crisp, efficient motions.

“Matt?” he tried again as Matt slipped into his socks. “Matt!”

He intercepted his friend as he reached for his shirt, pushing him back with a hand on his chest. Matt stiffened, clenching his fists again. Foggy flinched, pulling his hand back and stepping out of Matt’s space.

They stared each other down for several fractured moments, the intensity not at all lessened even though Matt was glaring at Foggy’s shoulder.

“Matty,” Foggy said softly, and Matt deflated, collapsing back to sit on Foggy’s couch and letting his head fall forward into his hands.

“I should have been out there,” he said, voice raw. “I should have been there to stop it.”

“This isn’t your fault, Matt,” Foggy said firmly, sitting down next to him. Matt let out a sceptical noise into his hands. “It wasn’t,” Foggy repeated, putting a hand on Matt’s back. There was a ridge of scar tissue under his fingertips.

Matt let out a shaky breath, leaning forward to pick up his shirt and dislodging Foggy’s hand. He resumed getting dressed, without the frantic rush. “I’m going down there.”

“To the crime scene?” Foggy asked, though he already knew the answer.

“I might be able to pick up something; a smell, a lead… something.”

“Alright,” he said, standing up and crossing back to his bedroom. “Let’s go.”

“Us?” Matt called as Foggy pulled clothes out of his wardrobe.

“It’s daylight Matt. You’re going as Matt Murdock, not Daredevil, meaning that Foggy Nelson is free to accompany you.”

 _“Foggy?”_ said a tinny voice, and Foggy realised that he’d dropped his phone in his rush to turn on the television. He picked it up, holding it in the crook of his shoulder as he pulled on a pair of slacks.

“Karen, I’m sorry—"

“You saw?” she interrupted.

“Yeah, Matt and I are about to head to the crime scene now.”

“I’ll meet you there. How is…” She hesitated, presumably remembering that Matt could probably hear her. “I’ll meet you there.”

Foggy hung up and threw his clothes on in a hurry. He hopped out of his bedroom pulling on his last shoe to find Matt standing near the front door bristling with palpable impatience. His clothes were rumpled, and his hair was sticking every which way. Matt opened the door the instant that Foggy picked up his keys, and strode ahead of him to wait by the elevator while Foggy locked up.

“Matt...” Foggy warned when Matt started quick-marching down the street with his cane folded up in his hand. Matt’s jaw clenched at the arm Foggy offered him, but he took a hold of it. The breakneck pace that he set probably made them look more like Matt was dragging him along rather than being led by him, but Foggy knew it was the best he was going to get.

Matt was silent as he walked, deftly leading Foggy through the morning foot traffic. The combination of adrenalin and hangover was making Foggy’s stomach churn, and the day was already uncomfortably warm.

“Light’s turning,” he told Matt, putting his hand over Matt’s and stopping them at the edge of the street.

Matt nodded, shifting his weight impatiently. The light turned again and Foggy went to step forward with the other pedestrians, but Matt brought him up short, tilting his face up to the right.

“They’re releasing more details,” he said in reply to Foggy’s questioning murmur. “Radio on the fourth floor.”

Foggy waited while Matt listened; it still surprised him sometimes, watching Matt use his abilities.

“They know she was at Josie’s last night,” Matt reported, tightening his grip on Foggy’s arm and stepping forward again. “A neighbour found her early this morning.”

There was a note in his voice that made Foggy peer over at him. Matt’s face was studiously blank.

“The neighbour said the blood was seeping under her front door.”

Foggy blanched, and Matt steadied him when he stumbled on his next step. “Jesus.”

They were still a block away from the crime scene when Matt’s steps slowed. He took a deep, shaky breath, inhaling through his nose. His grip on Foggy’s elbow shifted, letting Foggy lead him in earnest, and Foggy knew he was already focusing on Carla’s apartment.

He stopped them across the street from the cordoned off building, pulling Matt under an awning. Matt’s breathing was speeding up, his brows pinched together.

“Hey,” Foggy said, shaking Matt lightly. “You okay?”

Matt swallowed, his breathing slowing again. “There’s… a lot of blood. I’m having trouble getting any other scent.” He held up a hand, palm towards the building, frowning in confusion. “It’s… this is odd, but it’s so _cold.”_

“Cold?”

“The temperature gets steadily colder the closer it gets to the apartment. From this far away I can’t tell for sure how much colder, but the people inside are shivering.”

Foggy blinked. He was already uncomfortably warm, and the day hadn’t even reached its peak.

Matt tilted his head, listened again, and looked like he was fighting off the urge to throw up. “The techs are talking, they’re… having trouble _finding_ all of her.”

Foggy let that sink in for a moment, tasting the bile rising in his throat. “What did this?”

“They don’t know. There are sharp lacerations, but she’s also just been… torn up.” Matt leant back against the shop window behind them. “The cops’ leading theory is that the perpetrator was an _enhanced individual.”_ He made air quotes over the last two words.

Foggy’s stomach dropped, and he was suddenly, _intensely,_ grateful that Matt hadn’t gone out last night.

“Nelson and Murdock.”

Foggy looked up to see Brett Mahoney crossing the street towards them, wearing a harried expression. “You want to tell me why you two are at my crime scene looking like you’re making a walk of shame?” He stopped in front of them and crossed his arms, disapproving gaze flicking from Matt’s rampart bedhead and rumpled clothes to Foggy’s half tucked shirt.

“We saw the victim last night, Brett,” Foggy told him, dislodging Matt’s hand from his elbow as he tucked in his shirt properly.

Brett raised his eyebrows. “Last night...?” He tilted his head at Matt, making it a question. _Last night as Daredevil?_

“No,” Matt told him, “I was with Karen and Foggy at Josie’s Bar. I stayed at Foggy’s afterwards.”

For some reason Brett made a face at Foggy, so Foggy nodded confirmation. “He wasn’t involved, I was with him the whole night.”

Brett paused for a beat before talking, like he expected them to say something else. “Alright then, I’ll find someone to take your statements.”

Karen arrived while they were talking to the officers, and gave a statement as well. She kept shooting Matt worried looks, and as soon as they were done she pulled them both down the street and out of earshot.

“Matt, I’m so sorry we made you stay—" she began, but Matt cut her off with a wave of his hand.

“It’s not your fault, Karen.”

She narrowed her eyes. “It’s not your fault either, Matt.”

Matt sidestepped that by filling her in on what he’d learned from the crime scene. By the time he was done, Karen was looking about as sick as Foggy felt.

“Let’s go to the office,” she said, changing directions. They’d only signed the lease on the new office space around a month ago. It was arguably even shabbier than their old Nelson and Murdock premises, and Foggy loved every square inch of worn paint.

Matt frowned at her. “The office?”

“I’m an investigator, Matt, I’m going to investigate.”

“What?” Matt stopped short. “Karen, no, I don’t want either of you getting involved with this.”

“Excuse me?!” Foggy snapped at the same time that Karen repeated “Don’t want us _involved_?!” an octave higher than her usual voice.

Matt scowled at them both.

“Matt, buddy, we’re _not_ debating this,” Foggy said, slicing the air in a broad gesture he knew Matt would pick up. “Nelson, Murdock and Page; we’re a team. You can’t go flipping off fire escapes in the middle of the day anyway, so come back to the office and do some research with us until the sun goes down.”

Matt’s posture softened at Foggy’s last sentence, losing its defensive tension. “Until the sun goes down,” he agreed.

Foggy exchanged a look with Karen. He wanted to tell Matt not to go out at all, to leave things to the authorities. The heartache of the last couple of years had left Foggy with the knowledge that Daredevil was a part of Matt. He’d be donning the mask to track down Carla’s killer with or without their blessing.

 _Steer into the skid,_ he told himself. Matt keeping them in the loop was infinitely better than Matt hitting the streets as Daredevil behind their backs.

Karen brought the little fan she usually kept on her desk into the conference room, and they all set up their laptops around the table. It reminded Foggy uncomfortably of working to take down Fisk, but he pushed his unease aside, listening to the rhythmic clicking of Matt’s refreshable braille display.

Most of what they found didn’t seem especially helpful. Carla Estrada was a 28-year-old accountant born and raised in New York; no criminal record, average presence on social media, no known connections to anything shady. She shared the apartment where her body was found with her brother Anthony, who they confirmed was the man at Josie’s the night before.

No-one that Karen called had any clue where Anthony could be, when she worked her way through the siblings’ known associates. Foggy was struck once again by just how good Karen was at this sort of thing, listening to her squeeze information out of complete strangers using a combination of sincere empathy, dazzling charm, and shameless bluffing.

The best piece of information they found came from one of Carla’s work friends, another accountant named Phillip. When Karen asked him if he was worried about Anthony, Phillip’s scathing reply had her blinking in surprise. Phillip called Anthony a “possessive jerk” and he implied heavily that he suspected Anthony had something to do with Carla’s death.

Matt got progressively more distracted as the sun started to set, fingers pausing their reading as he listened to things beyond the range of Foggy’s hearing.

“Go,” Foggy said when the sun dipped behind the buildings, painting everything in long shadows. He was fairly sure that none of the three of them had done anything productive in the last hour, waiting out the clock.

Matt hesitated, then stood. “I’ll be careful.”

Foggy sighed. “I know you will, buddy.”

They packed up and locked the office behind them. Foggy lingered with Karen out the front of their building while they watched Matt hurry away down the street towards his apartment, cane tapping deftly.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Karen asked as Matt turned the corner at the end of the block. Her shoulders were hunched tight as she adjusted the strap of her bag, tension straining her voice.

“Of course.” Foggy put an arm around her in a quick hug. “Call us as soon as you get in, Matt,” he said without raising his voice, hoping Matt was still within range.

They swung by Karen’s apartment to pick up a bag of her things, then headed to Foggy’s. Foggy switched on the news channel as soon as they arrived, and Karen set up her laptop to notify them of any breaking stories.

“I hate this,” said Karen as they half-heartedly picked at some of Foggy’s leftovers.

Foggy put down his fork. “Me too.”

They stayed up together in Foggy’s living room, watching the clock and listening to the television recycle through the news. Foggy must have eventually fallen asleep, because the buildings outside his window were bathed in pale pre-dawn light when he startled awake. He winced, rubbing at the crick in his neck and straightening from his slump over the dining table.

Karen was curled up on the couch under the sheets that Matt had used last night, sleeping fitfully.

_Tap Tap._

Foggy lurched to his feet, spinning towards the noise at his window. He could just barely make out Matt crouched on his fire escape, his black clothes fading into the dull lighting.

“Jesus, Matt!” he hissed, crossing to the window and unlocking it with shaking fingers. Karen fought her way out of the bedding on the couch and followed him.

Matt pulled off the mask as he climbed through the window. “You said to call, but I left my phone here yest—"

He cut off with a grunt of surprise as Foggy pulled him into a desperate hug.

“Thank God,” Karen breathed, stepping up to slide her arms around them both. Foggy could feel her trembling.

After a beat, Matt returned the hug. “I’m alright.” His voice wobbled.

The three of them held each other in silence, with Foggy’s heartbeat so loud in his own ears that it must have been deafening to Matt. Karen got herself under control first, straightening up and swiping a hand over her eyes. Foggy followed suit, forcing himself to let go and step back.

“What did you find?” Karen asked Matt after taking a deep breath.

Matt ran his fingers through his sweaty hair. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Foggy asked.

“Nothing at all,” Matt continued, twisting the mask in his hands in frustration. “I’ve never seen the city so quiet. There was barely anyone out, and the few people I did see ran away terrified before they even saw me.”

It was starting to sink in for Foggy that Matt was okay, was back safe. The dull relief brought a wave of exhaustion with it, but he made himself focus on Matt’s words.

“It felt like…” Matt hesitated.

“Like what, Matt?”

“Like a ghost town.”


	2. CHAPTER 2: MATT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll be alternating between Foggy and Matt's POV every chapter, which will mean that the chapter lengths are a little uneven.

Matt threw himself at the streets of his city for three desperate weeks, and didn’t get a single piece of useful information in return for his bloodied fists and sleepless nights.

He’d never encountered anything like it before, even in the height of Fisk’s control. New York’s criminals were _utterly_ terrified. They scattered like cockroaches the moment his shadow fell across them. Worse, as far as he could tell they didn’t actually know _why_ they were terrified. One man, a convicted gun trafficker, had passed out before Matt had thrown a single punch, Daredevil’s growled “What are you afraid of?” enough to send the guy’s eyes rolling back in his head.  

Anthony Estrada was still missing, despite a city-wide witch hunt. The details of Carla’s death had leaked to the press, and most of New York was convinced that Anthony was behind the brutal crime.

Matt was infinitely grateful for Foggy and Karen; they were running Nelson, Murdock and Page on their own without complaint. Every day after he staggered back into his apartment and collapsed onto his bed, he’d wake to Karen or Foggy pushing food into his hands. They took turns nagging at him to eat and surreptitiously checking him for injuries. Whenever Matt tried to suggest that he could handle some office work they blithely ignored him, asking pointed questions about how much sleep he was getting.

Matt was so thankful he could cry.

Today was Foggy’s turn, the two of them sitting in Matt’s living room while Matt ate the Chinese takeout Foggy had brought him. It was early afternoon; earlier than Foggy or Karen usually visited.

“How was last night?” Foggy asked when Matt had finished. His hair was growing out again; Matt could hear the ends just barely brushing against his collar.

“More of the same,” Matt replied. “No leads, no injuries.”

Foggy made a sceptical noise at him, and Matt chuckled. “Not even a paper cut, Foggy. You can check if you want.”

He lifted the hem of his t-shirt, offering, but Foggy shook his head even as his heart beat sped up fractionally.

“It’s alright, Matt, I trust you.”

And that was… _nice,_ really nice, and much more than Matt deserved. He couldn’t even summon his usual disgruntlement over Foggy’s obliviousness to Matt’s light flirting, because his heart was beating _truth._

He let his shirt fall back down. “Thanks, buddy.”

Foggy waved a hand at him in dismissal. “Well, since you’re contusion free, would you mind coming back with me to the office before we close? I know it’s not great timing, but we’ve got a meeting with Mrs. Cameron, and she—"

“—refuses to talk to anyone other than me,” Matt finished for him, getting to his feet.

“Acted like I told her to cut her arm off when I suggested it,” Foggy agreed. “I’m still offended that your prickly old lady charming skills have one-upped mine. That’s usually _my_ department, Matt.”

Matt laughed at Foggy’s petulant tone, leaving his bedroom door open while he took a suit out of the wardrobe and stripped out of his t-shirt and sweats. Foggy stayed on the couch; as far as Matt could sense he wasn’t even looking in his direction. Matt was so used to the status quo by now that he wasn’t even disappointed.

He enjoyed flirting with Foggy, couldn’t help it _(“You’re not going to kiss me”… “sounds like we’re getting married”_ ) but despite Foggy’s elevated heart rate and quickened breathing, Matt had figured out years ago that Foggy genuinely thought of himself as straight. He wasn’t actually aware that he was attracted to Matt.

It had hurt quite a bit at the time, but compared to everything he’d been through since, it barely even stung anymore.

The meeting with Mrs. Cameron went well; it was almost a relief to put on his lawyer persona and do something productive after his fruitless nights. Foggy tried his best to ingratiate himself with the dour octogenarian, but she remained waspishly disapproving of him and Karen both.

“It’s not fair,” Foggy pouted as they shut down their computers and packed up. “She only likes you because you’re so—" he made a wiggly hand movement that encompassed all of Matt.

“I’m so what?” Matt asked with a grin, waiting for Karen to lock the door behind them.

“Oh shut it, your ego doesn’t need any more stroking.”

He was focusing his senses on Foggy’s heart rate and the warmth on the back of his neck, which was probably why the sound of one of the other office doors on their floor opening abruptly caught him by surprise.

A man exited, walking fast and looking down at his phone—

And ran right into Matt.

His shoulder caught Matt in the chest, and it took him a moment to stifle the instinct to deflect and throw the man into the wall. As a result, he was close to falling over when the man said “Shit!” in a British accent and caught Matt around the waist.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, pulling Matt back upright. “I wasn’t watching where I was…” He stopped, a hand still on the small of Matt’s back. He was wearing a subtle cologne, something exotic and mildly spicy, the scent of it mixed with old books and toothpaste. “Well,” he said under his breath, heartbeat thrumming. “Hi.”

“Uh…” Matt said, flustered, “…hello?”

The man spent another heady second presumably staring at Matt before finally stepping back and taking his hand. “Terribly rude of me, are you alright?”

“Umm,” Matt replied; the man’s light grip was cool against his fingers. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“Matt?” asked Karen, and he pulled his hand back, picking up his cane from where it was dangling from his wrist strap. The man’s heartbeat sped up when Karen spoke.

“No harm done,” Matt told her, shifting a half step backwards out of the man’s space.

“Should have been paying attention to where I was going,” the man said. “Apologies to you two as well!” He extended a hand to Karen. “I’m Oscar, Oscar Bardell.”

“Karen Page,” Karen told him, shaking his hand. From her wince, Oscar used too much enthusiasm for his hand shakes.

Foggy hesitated for a second before taking Oscar’s hand when it was offered. “Foggy Nelson.”

Matt had managed to regain his composure by the time Oscar turned back to him expectantly. “Matthew, was it?”

“Yes, Matt Murdock.” He shook Oscar’s hand.

“Well, Matthew, I would _love_ to stay and make things up to you, but I’m afraid I’m terribly late for a meeting.” He turned back to the door he’d come out of, fishing his keys from his pocket and locking it closed. “Drop by my office sometime and I’ll make you an apology coffee.”

“Ah, will do Mr. Bardell,” Matt replied, nonplussed. He focused his senses as Oscar walked off to the end of the hall and down the stairs. He was a little taller than Matt, wide shoulders filling out an expensive suit jacket; smooth where it rubbed against the material of his shirt.

“ _Mr_. Bardell?” Karen asked Matt in an amused voice when the door to the stairwell fell shut again.

“He’s new, I think,” Foggy said, an odd note in his voice that Matt couldn’t place. “Moved in about a month ago.”

“He’s pretty,” Karen said nonchalantly.

“Is he?” Matt asked in the same tone, starting towards the stairs.

“Anything in particular you’d like me to bring tomorrow?” Karen asked him when they reached the street. It was later than their regular closing time, and the foot traffic was thinner than usual.

“I can just get something for myself, you know” he told her, frowning.

“Leftover lasagne it is then!”

“…thanks Karen.”

She kissed him on the cheek and hugged him goodbye, then left towards her apartment, heels clicking on the pavement.

“I’ll walk with you for a bit,” Foggy told him, offering Matt his arm. Matt took it, and they turned and walked in the opposite direction from Karen.

Foggy’s breathing hitched several times as they walked down the unusually quiet street, but he didn’t start talking. Matt knew he wanted to ask something; Foggy’s apartment, the fancy one he used to share with Marci, was out of easy walking range of their office, and he usually just took a cab home.  

“Do you miss Marci?” Matt asked, and Foggy tensed.

“Yeah,” Foggy said softly, “It was for the best, but… yeah.” He fell silent as they cut down an alleyway.

Matt heard the buzz of streetlights flicking on as night started to fall; usually he liked to be suiting up and starting his patrol by now. He was feeling less than enthusiastic about becoming Daredevil tonight, tired of limping home empty handed.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” Matt began, “I know—"

_Clink._

He cut himself off, frowning and orienting towards the noise; metal on metal?

Unease prickled down his spine. He couldn’t sense anything; there was no metal on the roof he swore the noise had come from.

“Matt?” Foggy asked him, and Matt held up a finger. Foggy waited while Matt cocked his head, senses straining. They were alone; Foggy’s heartbeat was the only one he could hear on the street.

A breeze gusted past them, filling Matt’s nose with a thousand different scents – petrol, coffee, smoke, sewerage, countless chemicals. He froze, and Foggy gasped.

The air was _cold._

“Matt?!” Foggy asked again, heartbeat thundering in Matt’s ears. Matt spun to face back down the street; it was still empty apart from them.

_Scraaape._

Matt yanked Foggy away from the building they were standing under, breathing raggedly. The noise was _right there_ on the roof, but once again his senses told him there was nothing there. He’d shifted into a fighting stance without realising it, fists raised in front of him and teeth bared in a snarl.

Foggy started tugging at his arm. “Matt, let’s _go!”_ His sweat was sharp with the bitter taste of fear, his voice breathless.

Matt couldn’t explain the building pressure in his gut, his instincts screaming _run, run, run._

“Show yourself!” he yelled, and Foggy cringed.

 _CRASH!_ There was a tinkling of glass from the opposite side of the road, and a mindless burst of panic made Matt grab a hold of his friend – _what if it got Foggy?!_

He was sprinting down the sidewalk without any memory of deciding to do so, dragging a panting Foggy along with him. Foggy was chanting “No, no, no, no” as they ran, clutching desperately at Matt. The biting cold wind propelled them onwards, pushing at Matt’s senses with unthinking dread.

The compulsive horror drove them all the way to Matt’s building. He pushed Foggy inside his apartment and slammed the door behind them, collapsing against it, gasping for breath. Foggy shuddered against his side, shivering uncontrollably and clutching at Matt’s shirt.

“What,” Foggy asked as their breathing slowed, “What the _fuck_ was that?”

Matt shook his head, trying to clear it. The fear was fading now, leaving him confused and disoriented.

“You felt it?” Foggy asked, letting go of Matt and sliding down to sit on the floor, still trembling.

Matt had to clear his throat before he could reply. “Yeah, I felt it.”

“I’ve never been so damn scared in all my life,” Foggy mumbled into his hands. “Fuck, Matt, it was so _cold.”_

Matt’s head snapped up. “Foggy, it was probably Carla’s killer!”

Foggy’s heartrate, finally starting to slow, ratcheted up again. “Matt you can’t go back out there!”

Matt was already opening the closet and pulling out the chest with his Daredevil clothes.

“Matt!” Foggy said incredulously, then repeated himself louder when Matt ignored him. “MATT!”

“Foggy, I have to,” he said, shaking his head as he laced up his boots, “this is the closest I’ve gotten, I have to chase this.”

“You’ll get fear whammied again, Matt, or torn to fucking shreds!”

Foggy snatched the mask out of the chest before Matt could pick it up, dancing backwards when Matt tried to grab it out of his hands.

“Foggy.”

“Matt.”

Matt sighed. “Foggy, somebody else is going to get hurt. I’m a lot better equipped at handling whatever this is than somebody like Carla Estrada.”

“Matt…” Foggy said again, and his voice broke over the word. Matt stepped forward and pulled him into a hug, letting Foggy muffle a sob into his chest.

“You better come home, Matty,” Foggy said wetly, letting Matt go.

Matt gently tugged the mask out of his hands, blinking back his own tears. “I will, Foggy, I promise.”

He tied the mask over his face, and left Foggy standing alone in his apartment.

Matt retraced their steps, heading back towards the office. It was sticky and humid when he reached the spot where he and Foggy had stopped. There was nothing to find; no more sourceless noises, no more cold wind. Grinding his teeth in frustration, he started combing through the surrounding blocks systematically, expanding his search area in loose circles.

Nothing.

He stayed out all night anyway. The streets were even more deserted than they had been over the last few weeks, uncannily quiet. It felt like the city was holding its breath.

He ended up crouched on the roof of their office building, simmering with frustration. “Where are you,” he snarled, gripping at the bricks tightly enough to hurt his fingers.

As if in answer, a piercing scream cut through the humid air. Matt lurched to his feet, hurling himself over the edge of the roof and tumbling into a roll as he landed on the next building, up and running again before the noise of the scream had faded. Footsteps pounding, he reached the end of the block and swung onto a fire escape with a clatter.

He was halfway down when the fear hit again.

The swiftness of it buckled his knees, determination swamped by a wave of terror, and he barely managed to stop himself tripping over the edge. The arm he’d flung out to kill his forward momentum twinged, shoulder wrenched, and the pain helped him centre his thoughts. His skin erupted into gooseflesh as the temperature plummeted.

He started moving again with a defiant snarl, forcing his limbs into action despite the paralysing fear. As his boots hit the pavement the cold left in an instant, heat and humidity returning fast enough to make his head spin. He staggered for a moment before finding his balance, dogged steps building into an uneven run.

Twice more the cold snaps rolled over him, accompanied by the tide of unnatural fear. The last was so bad that he had to clutch at the side of a building to keep himself upright, every instinct telling him to run or hide.

Matt was having trouble keeping track of his environment, concentration shattered, but he barely needed to focus to locate the source of the scream when he finally arrived. The frigid temperature of the apartment was just like Carla Estrada’s.

So was the smell of blood.

“God, no,” Matt breathed. He couldn’t hear a heartbeat, just a steady dripping.

_Too late._

He pulled himself away and located the nearest pay phone. _Too late again._

He dialled the number for Brett’s precinct, and gave them the address along with a vague story about hearing gunshots. He hung up when they started asking for more information, scaled the building across the street, and settled in to wait.

He listened as the swarm of police activity took over, guilt churning his stomach. Brett arrived soon after the first responders. His voice never wavered as he directed his people where they were needed, but Matt could hear him swallowing down bile.

“I.D. in the wallet is for Dr. Rebecca Yoo,” Brett’s partner told him, “works at Metro-General.”

“Find her next of kin,” Brett told her, “and check for a connection to Estrada.”

Brett stepped away from the scene to make a call, requesting additional personnel. Matt waited until he’d hung up, then dropped down on front of him.

“Jesus, Murdock!” the detective snapped, heartbeat skyrocketing. He looked over his shoulder towards his fellow officers, then grabbed Matt by the shoulder and marched him into an alleyway. “You’re going to get us both thrown in jail, you lunatic!”

“This was the same thing that killed Carla,” Matt told him, voice low and urgent.

“Yeah, no shit,” Brett hissed. “You still shouldn’t be here.”

Matt tensed his jaw and waited while Brett paced back and forth and muttered obscenities.

“Fine,” Brett cried, throwing up his arms. “What do you know? I assume you called this in?”

Matt gave Brett an edited version of events; the empty streets, the noises he couldn’t pinpoint, the cold snaps and the unexplainable fear.

Brett let out an unhappy breath through his nose. “I know most of that already; half the force is convinced it’s the end of times, the other half are celebrating. We’ve haven’t brought anyone in on anything worse than drunk and disorderly in a month.”

“You need to tell me—" Matt started.

“No, I do not need to do _anything—"_

“Good cops will get hurt if you let them—"

“This is a _police_ matter, Murdock—"

Matt took an angry step towards him. “You need my help on this!”

Brett held his ground, chin sticking out. “No, I do not. This is my _job,_ Matt. My job. Not yours. I know better than anyone what you’ve done for this city, but there’s nothing you can do on this case that my people can’t. Vigilantes are _illegal._ They’d take my badge for even talking to you.”

Matt opened his mouth to argue further, but Brett cut him off with a point of his finger. “Go home, Matt.” The detective walked back out of the alley, coat swirling.

Matt listened to his steps until he joined the other officers, then thumped his fist against a dumpster in irritation. Then he climbed back onto the roof, and started making his way back towards his apartment and Foggy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am infinitely soft for Foggy and Karen helping Matt balance his daytime life with his nighttime life <3 
> 
> Also, "knows-Matt-is-Daredevil-and-is-fed-up-with-his-shit" Brett is the best Brett. My interpretation when I first watched Season 3 was that Brett was obviously told about Matt at some point, but on rewatching I think it's technically possible that he's still not supposed to know. I wish we'd gotten Season 4 so we could find out which is true.
> 
> We got a little intro to our killer's powers in this chapter! Poor Matt, up against a baddie who's invisible to his super senses.


	3. CHAPTER 3: FOGGY

Foggy re-read the first paragraph of his brief for the umpteenth time, once again failing to actually absorb any of the information. His mind kept drifting back to Matt, who he’d talked into staying home to sleep.

Foggy let the document fall back onto the table and rubbed at his eyes. He hadn’t gotten any rest at all the previous night, staring at the ceiling and worrying over Matt. He’d been convinced that something horrible was going to happen, the aftertaste of the terror they’d felt making his throat feel raw. When Matt had opened his roof access door and walked in under his own power the relief had been such a rush that it momentarily overcame his exhaustion.

The sleepless night was fast catching up with him though.

He sighed, getting to his feet and stretching until his back popped. He walked to Karen’s office, knocking on the door and leaning against the door frame. “You getting anything done?”

She looked up from her laptop, dark circles under her eyes. “Not a thing. You?”

“Nope,” he told her with a weary smile. “Do we have any meetings this afternoon?”

“Not anymore,” she said, slumping backwards in her chair. “All rescheduled.”

Both of them paused at the sound of the front door opening, trading a confused look. Foggy stuck his head around the corner and saw Matt closing the door behind himself. There was a bruise starting to bloom above his right eyebrow that Foggy hadn’t noticed that morning. 

“Matt?” he asked, “What are you doing here?”

Matt leant his cane against the wall and put his hands in his pockets. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Karen stalked out of her office. “Matthew Murdock, what the hell were you thinking last night?” Matt tilted his head towards her, frowning. “Foggy told me what happened, how could you go back out after that?!”

“Karen,” Matt said placatingly, but she kept talking over him.

“This shit is clearly above your pay grade, we need to call in Jessica, or Luke, or the goddamned Avengers!”

Matt actually took a step backwards, holding his hands up in surrender. “Karen, I already tried Jessica and Luke, and Danny, they’re not answering.”

Karen fell silent, still glaring at him.

“How exactly am I supposed to contact the Avengers? Knock on Stark’s front door in my Daredevil outfit?”

“We need help from _someone_ Matt, whatever this thing is, you can’t fight it if you can’t sense it.” The anger drained out of her, and Foggy put a hand on her shoulder.

“There’s no-one else Karen,” Matt said, voice scratchy. “Just me.”

Karen’s phone started ringing, drawing their attention. She breathed for a moment, gathering herself, before answering.

“Ellison, hi. What’s up?” She listened to the phone for several seconds before her expression tightened. Matt turned and picked up his cane.

“What?” Foggy asked them, looking from one to the other. “What happened?”

“Get your things,” Matt told him. “Police just brought in Anthony Estrada.”

* * *

Brett was _not_ happy to see them.

“No, god damnit, I said _no_ , Murdock!” he said as soon as they walked into the precinct.

“Brett!” Foggy said cheerfully, “The law firm of Nelson, Murdock and Page would like to speak to Mr. Anthony Estrada about legal representation.”

Brett started repeating “no” halfway through Foggy’s sentence. “Not happening, go away.”

“You’re not suggesting that you’re planning on denying Mr. Estrada his right to counsel, are you Detective Mahoney?” Karen asked, dangerously sweet.

Brett raised his eyes to the ceiling and muttered something under his breath.

Matt bared his teeth in a shark’s smile. “We’ll only serve to increase in annoyance the longer you leave us out here, detective.”

“Fine,” Brett said, rubbing at his brow and waiving over another officer. “Fine. Take them through to Estrada.”

Foggy made a note to make it up to Brett somehow, when he had time. The officer led Foggy and Matt through to an interrogation room. Before the door had opened, Matt inhaled through his nose and lifted his eyebrows, expression inscrutable. Foggy swallowed nervously; he hoped to god they weren’t about to enter a room with the killer who’d torn two people to bloody ribbons.

Anthony Estrada was a mess. His t-shirt and sweatpants were liberally coated with grime, caked on dirt and flaking dark brown stains that Foggy realised with a jolt was dried blood. His eyes were wild and staring, fingers turning white where they gripped at the table he was handcuffed to.

“Mr. Estrada,” Matt greeted him. “My name is Matthew Murdock, this is my associate Foggy Nelson.”

Estrada flinched when Matt spoke, expression haunted. “What do you want?”

“We’re lawyers, Mr. Estrada,” Foggy told him, fighting down his unease when the man’s attention fell on him. “We’d like to ask you some questions.”

Estrada’s wild eyes slid back over to Matt. “I know you,” he said warily, “You were at the bar the night that… the night she—" he curled in on himself with a ragged howl that made Foggy jump and grab at Matt’s arm. “Oh, my Carla…”

Foggy glanced over at Matt, who gave him the slightest of nods and pulled out a chair to sit down.

“We’re sorry for your loss, Mr Estrada,” Matt said softly.

Foggy let out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding; Matt thought the man was sincere.

“We’d like to represent you, Mr. Estrada,” Matt continued as Foggy sat down next to him. “Tell us what happened.”

Estrada got himself back under control, gulping in unsteady breaths. “Represent me?”

Foggy nodded towards the handcuffs. “The police think you murdered your sister, Mr. Estrada, and possibly another woman as well.”

“I know,” said Estrada, tugging idly at the cuffs. “I didn’t do it.”

“We believe you,” Matt said soothingly. “Let us convince the police too.”

The man’s eyes flicked between them, narrowing in suspicion. “I don’t have any money.”

“That won’t be an issue, Mr. Estrada,” said Foggy, supressing a sigh. “Perhaps you’ve heard of our firm, Nelson and Murdock?”

Estrada frowned, then nodded. “You took down that crime lord, what’s his name. Fisk.”

“This is what we do,” Foggy told him, spreading his hands wide to indicate himself and Matt. “Let us help you.”

They let the silence stretch as Anthony considered them. His eyes flicked between Foggy and Matt, sizing them up, then he nodded.

“Okay.”

Anthony told them his story. He and Carla had been walking home from Josie’s when a noise had spooked them. They’d run home, terrified and freezing cold, a mirror image of Matt and Foggy’s flight the previous night. Estrada was visibly shaking as he spoke, eyes darting around the room.

“We got inside, and locked the door behind us,” he continued, sliding the chain attached to his handcuffs backwards and forwards through the loop attaching it to the table. “Then… then…”

He trailed off, eyes widening and staring at the blank wall. Foggy hunched his shoulders against the chill that ran down his spine.

“Then what happened, Mr. Estrada?” Matt asked, projecting calm confidence. He brushed his fingers fleetingly against Foggy’s arm in reassurance.

Anthony slumped forward, burying his face in his hands. He sobbed out a sentence in Spanish, and Matt’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He asked a question in the same language.

“Matt?” Foggy asked softly.

“He said they were attacked by—"

“It was a ghost!” Anthony interrupted Matt, eyes wild. “I know that makes me sound crazy. Maybe I am crazy.”

He laughed, and Foggy had to grip the table edge to stop himself from recoiling.

“It pulled her away from me, and she screamed, and screamed, and screamed.” Anthony’s voice got louder and louder, edging towards hysteria. “She _screamed._ And I… I _ran!”_ He spat out the last word, slamming his hands on the table and making Foggy jump.

Anthony pulled at the chain, sawing the edge of his cuff harshly against his wrist.

“How could I run? How could I leave her?” His dark eyes found Foggy’s, and Foggy snapped his gaze away from the roiling turmoil.

“There was nothing you could have done, Mr. Estrada,” Matt said. His fingers were back on Foggy’s arm again, tighter this time.

Anthony was silent for a long moment.

“I’ve been hiding ever since,” he continued, voice subdued. “Until I saw the news about that doctor lady. I know Carla would have wanted me to come forward, tell what I heard. She’s always telling me to be a better person.”

Foggy leant forward, “What you heard?”

“A woman.”

“Not Carla?” Matt asked, grip shifting on Foggy’s arm.

“No. It was the ghost. She was just a shadow, but I head her speak, between Carla’s… between Carla’s…”

“What did she say, Mr. Estrada?” Matt asked softly.

“She said, ‘you are not worthy,’” Anthony whispered, closing his eyes. “That’s all I heard before I ran.”

Foggy looked over at Matt; his best friend was pale behind his glasses, jaw clenched.

“Can you remember anything else, Mr. Estrada?” Foggy asked when the silence stretched over a few moments.

Anthony shook his head numbly, staring down at his wrist. He was bleeding slightly from where he’d pulled the edge of his handcuff against his skin. The chain was still taught in his hand.

Matt got to his feet, pulling Foggy with him. “We’re going to talk to the police, Mr. Estrada.” He hesitated, then reached across the table to nudge the man’s hand, releasing the pressure on his wrist. “Anthony…” Matt said, voice quiet but strong. Anthony looked up at him. “We’re going to make sure that Carla’s killer is brought to justice. You have my word.”

Anthony didn’t say a word as they left the room, his unfocused eyes staring into the distance.

Foggy filled Karen in on what they’d learned while Matt spoke to the police about the particulars of Anthony’s case, then they headed back into the office. Karen had been busy while they were speaking to Anthony, researching possible connections between Dr. Becca Yoo, the victim from last night, and Carla or Anthony Estrada.

“Nothing,” she told them with a heavy sigh, gesturing at her computer in frustration. “If there’s any connection, it’s certainly not an obvious one.”

Foggy poked at their little fan, shifting its angle a little closer. “Are you sure Anthony is telling the truth, Matt?”

Matt was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and brow furrowed, while Karen and Foggy sat at the conference table again. “He sounded sincere. Terrified, and grief stricken, but sincere.”

“Then we need to find the real killer, because right now he’s all but guaranteed to take the fall for this, no matter what sort of legal finagling we manage.”

Matt sighed and took a breath to reply, but stopped and tilted his head towards their door. A second later there was a knock.

Foggy turned to Karen, frowning. “I thought we postponed our afternoon meetings?”

Matt inhaled through his nose, then walked over to open the door. “It’s not a client.” He opened the door to reveal the man who’d nearly knocked him down yesterday, holding a coffee cup and flashing a blindingly white smile. Oscar was dressed in an impeccably tailored business suit, a deep navy that accented his blue eyes and coal-dark hair. There was a single diamond earring glittering in one of his ears. He was oozing the kind of effortless confidence that teenage Foggy and his low self esteem would have been incredibly jealous of.

“I figured I should knock before barging through the door this time,” Oscar said, a chuckle in his accented voice.

“Oscar,” Matt said, smiling back, “Good to… well I’m afraid I can’t say good to see you.”

Foggy blinked, taken aback, while Oscar laughed richly. Matt almost never made dorky blind jokes to strangers.

“I come bearing coffee, in penance for past grievances,” Oscar said, holding up the cup. “At your right hand.”

Matt took it, stepping back and gesturing into the office with the other hand. “Would you like to join us?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t the time,” Oscar said, eyes flicking quickly over Matt, lingering on his bare arms where he’d pushed his shirt sleeves up.

He was _flirting._ That made Foggy feel… well he wasn’t entirely sure, but it made him feel something.

“I’ve got to get home and prep for call to Tibet,” Oscar continued, regret in his voice. “I love my job, but the time difference will be the death of me.”

“Tibet?” Matt asked politely.

“I’m an art dealer,” Oscar explained, “and collector.” He smirked on the last word for no reason Foggy could discern. “I’m working on an exhibit for a local patron, a collection of Tibetan antiques.”

Karen was wearing an amused smile when Foggy glanced at her, one eyebrow raised as she watched Matt and Oscar.

“At least I don’t have far to travel,” Oscar continued, “I’m staying at the hotel across the street.”

That… was not really information that was necessary for Matt to know. Foggy studied his friend; Matt was projecting his ‘polite lawyer’ face, showing no reaction to the blatant flirting. But he wasn’t shutting Oscar down either.

“Well, perhaps next time,” Matt said, then raised his coffee in salute, “thank you for the coffee.”

“No, no, thank you for forgiving me for nearly pushing you into the floor.”

Foggy sucked in a startled breath, and Karen let out a stifled snort.

There was a barely visible smirk playing at the edges of Matt’s expression when he replied. “You’re very welcome.”

“Good to see you too,” Oscar said, waving at Foggy and Karen jauntily.

“You as well, Mr. Bardell,” Karen replied. Foggy’s thoughts were too scattered to reply, but he managed a wave.

“Matthew,” Oscar said, lowering his voice, “enjoy the coffee.”

He gave them all a last nod, then turned and left.

“Well,” Karen said when the door to their stairwell clicked closed.

“Hmm?” Matt hummed, sipping his coffee.

“That sure was something,” she said, voice overly casual.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” Matt replied, still smirking.

Foggy took a breath, changed his mind, and shut his mouth again.

Karen was grinning and shaking her head as she shut her laptop and started gathering her things. “I’m going to chase down some leads before it gets too late,” she told them.

“Please go home before the sun sets?” Matt asked, smile fading to concern. “I don’t trust that the city will stay as quiet as it has been, feels too much like the calm before the storm.”

Karen rolled her eyes and shuffled the contents of her bag until her gun was on the top, within easy reach. “Happy, dad?”

The corner of Matt’s mouth pulled down unhappily, but he nodded and opened the door for her.

“Stay safe, Karen,” Foggy told her, giving her a quick hug. “Check in with us when you’re home?”

She returned the hug, patting his back. “I will, Foggy, don’t worry.”

With Matt and Karen as his best friends, sometimes Foggy felt like all he did was worry.

After Karen left, they sat back down to continue their research, working on Anthony’s case and searching for any connection between him and Carla and the second victim, Dr. Yoo.

Foggy found his mind straying back to Oscar, and Matt’s reaction. Up until today he would have sworn that Matthew Murdock was straight as a goddamn arrow. There wasn’t even any drunken college experimenting, as far as he was aware. And yet…

“So…“ he said, keeping his eyes on his computer screen in feigned nonchalance.

Matt’s fingers paused their reading. “Hmm?”

Foggy floundered for a second before continuing. “Oscar the curator… he’s, uh, handsome.”

Matt tilted his head. “Is he?”

“He’s, uh… well you must have noticed that he…”

“That he’s handsome?” Matt asked, smile spreading. He tapped the corner of his glasses in a gesture that meant ‘ _blind, remember?_ ’

Foggy made an irritated noise at him. “That he was flirting with you Matt, I don’t care if you’re blind, he would have set off the gaydar of someone without any working senses.”

Matt grinned. “Yes, Foggy, I’m aware he was flirting.”

“And that… do you… which is fine! I was just wondering…”

“Is there an actual question in there, buddy?”

Foggy sighed, and clamped down on the fragmented babble. “Are you interested in dating Oscar?”

Matt adjusted his glasses. “It’s flattering, but no, I’ve never been in a relationship with a man.”

Foggy let out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. “Right! I thought so, just wanted to… you can always tell me anything, man.”

“I know, Foggy,” Matt said, smile turning fond.  

It wasn’t until after they’d closed up and left for the night that Foggy realised that Matt hadn’t technically confirmed that he wasn’t into men, just that he’d never dated a guy before.

He wasn’t sure what to think about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foggy season 1: "I don't... I don't have any money." "Well, it was lovely to meet you, Miss Page!"  
> Foggy post season 3: "I don't have any money." "“That won’t be an issue, Mr. Estrada...This is what we do."
> 
> Ladies and gentlemen and distinguished non-binary readers, I am ALL ABOUT THAT CHARACTER GROWTH!! 
> 
> Poor confused Foggy, nothing like a flirtatious OC to make you question your assumptions on your best mate's sexuality. 
> 
> More clues in this chapter! What do you think folks, is Anthony sincere? Do we trust Oscar? Any guesses on the identity of the woman Anthony said he heard? Do any super-fans (or astute googlers) recognise the names of either of our victims?


	4. CHAPTER 4: MATT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, so I aim to post the next one today as well, in about seven hours. Hold onto your hats, this is the last chapter before things start to ramp up!

The next night, the storm that Matt predicted hit New York like a hurricane.

Anthony Estrada’s statement whipped the media into a frenzy, and they traded speculation back and forth with rabid enthusiasm. The city was split between those that thought Estrada was insane or making up fairy tales to cover his crime, and those that spoke in hushed tones about a possibly supernatural killer.

The latter group had dubbed the murders “the spectre killings”, and before Matt’s booted feet hit the first rooftop, the name “the Spectre” was buzzing in his ears from a dozen different directions at once.

New York’s underbelly reacted to the news with a surge in panicked violence. Matt pushed himself to his limit, fights blurring together in his memory, but he couldn’t squeeze any new information of the city’s criminals.

He’d only just made the decision to call it a night when he stumbled on a mugging in process. The mugger clipped him in the jaw with a tire iron before he managed to wrestle it off him. He turned away from the blow to soften the impact, but he was feeling groggy with the pain by the time he crawled into bed.

When he walked into the office after scrounging a couple of hours sleep, both Foggy and Karen’s heartrates ticked upwards dramatically.

“Jesus, Matt!” Karen exclaimed, while Foggy hissed a breath through his teeth sharply.

“That bad?” he asked, propping his cane up by the door.

“You’re supposed to use your fists to beat up the low-lifes, Matt, not your impeccable jawline,” Foggy told him. “That bruise is already more colours than I can count. And I’m _great_ at counting.”

Matt sighed, rubbing at his aching brow. He knew the injury would be even worse by tomorrow.

“Let me see,” said Foggy, standing closer than Matt had realised; he was having trouble keeping track of things. Foggy gently pushed Matt’s hand to the side and tilted his face towards the window with careful fingers.

“It’ll be fine,” Matt murmured, letting Foggy examine him.

He closed his eyes. Foggy’s fingers felt pleasant on his feverishly warm skin, something to focus on besides his aching jaw.

“Matt?” Karen asked, sounding concerned.

“Hmm?” Matt opened his eyes, and forced himself to focus.

“You didn’t even hear my question, did you?”

Matt frowned in her direction. “Question?”

Karen sighed. “If you’re not willing to stay at home you at least need to take a nap, Matt,” she told him sternly.

Matt opened his mouth to argue, then realised that Foggy had already led him over to the beat-up old couch they kept in the reception area. He didn’t remember crossing the room.

“Just a quick nap, buddy,” Foggy repeated.

Matt hesitated.

“Matty…” Foggy said, voice pleading, and Matt’s resistance folded.

“Just a quick one,” he agreed, collapsing onto the couch.

With the comforting sound of Foggy and Karen’s heartbeats in his ears he was asleep before they’d walked back into their offices.

* * *

When he woke several hours later, he wasn’t immediately sure what had jolted him out of deep sleep. He shook his head to try and clear it, wincing when his jaw twinged.

The pain helped to sharpen his focus, and he realised that Karen was on the phone, heartbeat thrumming along too fast.

“Thanks Ellison,” she finished, hanging up. She put the phone down and rubbed at her temples, letting out a weary sigh.

“Karen?” Matt called, sleep and trepidation making his voice croak.

The sound of Foggy typing stilled, and his office chair squeaked as he got up. He made a questioning noise at Matt as he entered the reception area. Matt nodded towards Karen’s office; her heartbeat was still racing.

“What now…” Foggy murmured to himself.

Matt stood up, too quickly, and staggered as the blood pounded in his ears. Foggy was at his side in an instant.

“Easy, buddy,” he said, steading him.

Matt waited for his equilibrium to stabilise, then patted Foggy’s hand. “I’m fine.”

Foggy made a sceptical noise, fingers tightening their grip on Matt’s shoulder. Matt ignored him, pulling away and crossing to Karen’s office door. She was still slumped over her desk with her head in her hands, and she didn’t look up when Matt rapped lightly on the door frame.

“Karen?” he asked softly.

She took a steadying breath and looked up as Foggy peered through the door over Matt’s shoulder. Matt knew what she was going to say before she said it.

“There was another attack.”

Matt closed his eyes. “Who?”

Karen hesitated for a moment before answering. “A man and two women, they found them in a jewellery store on 8th Ave.”

Foggy swallowed thickly. “Three?”

Matt’s gut burned with slow anger. _Three._

“When?” he asked, voice tight.

“…last night, Matt—" Karen stopped as Matt spun on his heel and pushed past Foggy, biting back a snarl.

“Matty…” Foggy started, but Matt cut him off.

“I was out all night!” Matt snapped, turning back to his friends and throwing up his hands in frustration. “I heard _nothing._ Nothing!”

Foggy and Karen exchanged a look.

“I feel like I’m grasping at smoke, like nothing I do _helps_ , people keep dying and I—"

“Matt.” Foggy’s soft voice stemmed the tide of angry words.

He clenched his jaw, then winced, and blew out a slow, controlled breath.

“Come on,” Karen said in the same measured tone, “five victims, there has to be a connection between them. We can do this.”

“At least we can use this for Anthony’s case,” Foggy added, “he’s been in holding this whole time, perfect alibi.”

After a moment’s hesitation Matt nodded, and let his friends shepherd him back to the conference room. Once again they dove into the research. Police had identified the victims as Eleanor Cook, the owner of the jewellery store, Chris Tyler, her boyfriend, and Chris’ sister Emma.

Matt was stealing himself against the disappointment of another day of fruitless research, but they’d barely settled in when Karen gasped, heartbeat thrumming and adrenalin spiking.

“Holy shit.”

“What?” Matt and Foggy asked together.

“The sister, I know her!” Karen exclaimed, fingers flying over the keys. She spun her laptop around, presumably showing a photo of the woman.

“She’s the woman who goddamned kidnapped me!”

It took Matt a second to process what she meant. “ _What?!”_

“Last year, before I knew you were—" she made a complicated gesture at Matt that he couldn’t decipher. “When the ninja guy kidnapped us to draw you into a trap.”

Matt felt like there was a hot coal burning in his stomach. “Nobu,” he whispered. _The night Elektra first died._

Karen nodded, excited “Yes! She was on the bus, she was in charge. She… she shot a man.”

Matt… did not know how to feel. This woman was one of the people complicit in Elektra’s death, and now she was dead. Horribly dead.

“So… “ Matt said slowly, feeling the concern radiating out from both his friends, “There may be connection between the murders and the Hand.”

All three of them sat in silence for a moment.

“I thought the Hand was gone,” Foggy murmured.

“They are,” Matt said firmly. He was glad he was sitting down. “The leaders are all dead and buried under Midland Circle.”

Karen’s breath caught several times before she spoke. “Matt, we thought you were dead and buried under that hellhole too.” The pain in her voice still sounded fresh.

Matt shook his head, though he wasn’t sure what he was denying.

“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” Foggy said soothingly. “It might be nothing! Total coincidence!”

Matt raised his eyebrows, and Foggy dropped the forced jovial tone. “Let me dream, Matt,” he sighed.

Karen turned her computer back around. “Let’s check the other victims for connections to the Hand.”

They worked in silence. Matt poured over the information they’d collected on Carla.

He’d lost track of time when Foggy’s clicking stilled.

“Goddamnit,” he whispered.

“Foggy?”

“Yoo, the second victim. She was a student at the Haven Compound before she became a doctor. It was a charity that helped at risk youths.”

Foggy tilted his laptop screen towards Karen. “The Haven Compound was owned and operated by this man, Ramón Bakuto.”

Matt stiffened. “Bakuto?”

Foggy nodded. “Danny and Colleen spoke about him, he’s—"

“Hand,” Matt finished for him. “One of the leaders.”

Karen ran a hand through her hair. “Shit.”

Matt was inclined to agree. “This means the Estradas are probably involved as well.” He’d really thought Anthony was genuine.

“I’m going to try calling Danny and Colleen again,” Foggy said, fishing his phone out of his pocket and standing up.

They waited while he dialled, and Matt could hear Colleen’s voicemail message on the other side of the call. Foggy left a message explaining what was going on, though he carefully skated around mentioning Matt’s night-time persona or why they were interested in the murders. Colleen would be able to tell that they’d discovered the killings were connected to the Hand, but if anyone else heard the message it would sound like Foggy was just checking in on his friend.

“We need to talk to Anthony again,” Matt said when Foggy had hung up. “We should be able to get him released now.”

“What?” Matt could hear the frown in Karen’s voice. “Why would you want him released if he’s probably connected to the Hand?”

Matt smiled grimly. “Because Daredevil can’t pay him a visit in a police precinct.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look out Estrada! 
> 
> Three new bodies, and our heroes have discovered the victims are somehow involved with the Hand! Anyone have any last guesses on our killer's identity? 
> 
> The next chapter is 5k long, and DANG does it get hectic.


	5. CHAPTER 5: FOGGY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright folks, buckle up! From this chapter we get to the "murder" part of "murder mystery" so expect some graphic violence. I've bumped the rating to explicit just to be on the safe side. I don't get too descriptive or anything but violence does happen, and people do die. If you'd like more information before reading the chapter leave a comment and let me know. 
> 
> There is also a section where Foggy wakes up from a nightmare very distressed, and has a mild panic attack. If you'd like to skip that section skip from the first line break to "He tightened his grip on Matt’s shirt"

Foggy, Matt and Karen visited the station and lawyered Anthony out of holding. It didn’t take much; the cops knew the most recent attack had damaged their case against him. They gave him the “don’t leave town” speech and sent him on his way.

Foggy felt uncomfortable watching Anthony walk down the street towards his apartment. Matt’s face tracked him long after he was out of sight, and it reminded Foggy of a cat watching a mouse.

“You should go home,” Matt told them, still focused in the direction Anthony had gone.

Foggy exchanged a look with Karen. “Sleepover?” she asked. Her smile trembled a little.

“Definitely,” Foggy agreed, returning the smile. He looked back at Matt, who’d finally turned away from Anthony. “Come to us as soon as you’ve… _talked_ … to him, okay?”

Matt frowned at him. “I need to do this Foggy, we need to know.”

Foggy waved his hands at Matt placatingly. “No, no, Matt, I didn’t mean—" He broke off, huffing in irritation. “I agree with you, this is a good plan.”

Matt was silent for a moment, presumably checking Foggy’s sincerity by smelling his hair follicles or whatever it was that he did, then the tension in his shoulders lessoned. He nodded.

“Why don’t you both stay at mine?” he offered. “That way I don’t have to risk climbing in the fire escape. I don’t like how often I’ve been to your apartment in the suit lately.”

Foggy and Karen agreed, and twilight saw them curled up on Matt’s sofas, watching the garish colours of the billboard flash in through the windows. Foggy wished that Matt had a tv, anything to distract them from more waiting.

“God, I hate this,” Karen said, running a hand through her hair. It was rumpled and frizzing from the number of times she’d repeated the nervous gesture since Matt had left.

“You ever think that we should be finding a way to be out there with him?” Foggy asked. “You know—" he made a karate chopping gesture.

Karen chuckled. “You know we’d rock the spandex.” Her tone was light, but she was looking at her handbag, at her gun, when she said it.

“I would look _formidable_ in spandex,” Foggy agreed.

They let the silence draw out for a few minutes, Karen tracing patterns in the arm of her chair.

“I don’t think he’d want us out there, even if we could do the sort of thing he does,” she said eventually. “We’re… I think we’re his connection to the normal world. People like him need people like us to balance them out. And… as much as I hate it… people like us need people like him.”

Foggy very consciously did not ask about Karen’s involvement with the Punisher. She’d sidestepped his questions neatly the last time Castle was in town, but once the news broke he’d immediately known where she’d really gone that day she’d called in sick to work.

“This—" Karen waved a hand to encompass the room, “—sucks, but it’s infinitely better than when I didn’t know what was going on, when he was disappearing without explanation.”

Foggy bit at his lip, old guilt stirring. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Karen shook her head, blue eyes sincere. “It wasn’t your secret to tell, Foggy.”

“I know, but I should have told you anyway, especially when you two started dating.”

“Foggy,” she replied with a self-deprecating smile, “That was never going to work out, regardless of secrets involving illegal vigilante activity.”

Foggy frowned. “You don’t think you’d ever want to…” he trailed off awkwardly.

Karen raised an eyebrow at him, and he rolled his eyes.

“You know,” he continued, “rekindle the star-crossed love, romance the devil, seduce him away from his love affair with justice—"

Karen threw a pillow at him, laughing. Her expression turned pensive. “I think that Matt and I were in love with an idea, not the reality of each other, you know?”

Foggy made a supportive noise, encouraging her to continue.

“Looking back, I think I just wanted something _normal_. Turns our neither of us were as ‘normal’ as the other thought.” Her voice turned soft. “I really did think I was in love with him, though.” 

Foggy sighed. “I know exactly how that feels.”

Karen blinked in surprise. “You do?”

“Oh!” Foggy said, jerking upright, “no, no I mean, I know what it’s like to have an idea of what Matt is and find out he’s someone different.”

Karen hesitated before answering. “Right.”

Foggy feigned interest in the new advertisement on the billboard, avoiding Karen’s eyes and feeling awkward.

Karen cleared her throat, and he snapped his gaze back to her. “So you and Matt,” she asked carefully, “you’ve never…”

Foggy floundered, opening and closing his mouth. “Us?” he asked, voice too high. “No, we haven’t – I mean, Matt is straight…” Suddenly he thought of dark-haired, blue eyed Oscar, and Matt’s pleased smirk. “I mean _I’m_ straight,” he finished firmly.

Karen looked at him with the calculating intensity that usually marked a demonstration of her investigative reporter skills, and Foggy felt the back of his neck start to sweat.

The jangle of his ringtone interrupted her before she could speak, and Foggy scrabbled for it in relief.

“Hello, Franklin Nelson speaking?” he answered, not waiting to check who was calling.

His phone squealed harshly at him, static hissing, and he pulled it away from his ear with a wince.

“Hello? Foggy?” said a familiar voice on the other end of the line.

“Danny!” he exclaimed, and Karen slid out of her chair, motioning emphatically at him. He put the phone on speaker.

“Foggy!” Danny replied happily, then there was a rustling noise and he yelled “Colleen, I got him! Sorry Foggy, the reception here is terrible.”

“Where are you?” Foggy asked, holding up the phone so it was between him and Karen.

There was a crashing noise and a grunt, and a sound that sounded suspiciously like another man groaning in pain.

“Danny,” Karen asked incredulously, “are you fighting someone right now?”

“Is that Karen?” Danny asked, speaking over more miscellaneous noises. “Hi Kare—" his voice was covered up by another whine of static.

“Danny?” Foggy asked again, “are you there?”

“—don’t have much time,” Danny’s voice cut back in again. “The murders you’ve described do sound like the Hand.”

Foggy and Karen exchanged a troubled look. Danny’s next sentence was nearly entirely covered by static.

“Say again, Danny,” Karen asked, “We can’t hear you.”

“I said… assassin… no tra—…"

Foggy leaned closer to the phone, straining to hear.

“—uses some kind of relic from K'un-Lun, Colleen says—oh shit, one sec.”

Danny stopped talking. There was a roaring sound, like a jet engine powering up, then the unmistakable sound of gunshots. Foggy forced himself to ease up his death grip on the phone.

“Danny?”

There was another burst of static, Danny’s reply garbled underneath it.

“… to go… Colleen…” several unintelligible words, “… fire, okay? She… important… got it?”

Foggy stared at Karen desperately. “What?!”

“I said… need… use fire!”

The line went dead.

The two of them stared at Foggy’s phone for several fractured moments, then Karen picked it up and hit redial. They waited, listening to it ring. No answer.

Karen lowered the phone slowly.

“Well,” Foggy said, “at least we know for sure the Hand are involved in this.”

They scrounged dinner from the leftovers in Matt’s fridge, neither much in the mood for talking any more. When Foggy half-heartedly suggested they should try and get some sleep, Karen insisted on taking the couch. Too emotionally drained to argue, Foggy changed and slid into Matt’s ridiculously comfortable bed.

* * *

In his dream, he watched Matt walk into Midland Circle. He hadn’t been there when it happened, really, but his subconscious treated him to a view of Matt stalking into the building in the red suit, all deadly grace and snarling teeth.

Foggy tried to call out, to warn him. _Don’t go. Don’t leave me._ The words wouldn’t come, and his feet were glued to the floor. _No, no, no._

The explosion lit up the sky, burning everything Foggy could see. Fear bubbled up, aching and devastating. A distant part of him became aware that he was thrashing about in Matt’s silk sheets, but he couldn’t pull himself out of the dream.

He tried to scream out his friend’s name, but it came out in a whispered whimper.

Over the noise of the fire, he could hear Matt crying out, high and pained.

“Matt… _Matt…”_

“Foggy! Wake up!”

“Matty, _no…”_

“Foggy!”

Foggy lurched upright, drenched in sweat and clutching reflexively at the person kneeling over him. He stared blankly, fighting his way up out of the crushing grief, then realised that it was Matt. He was still in his black costume, sans the mask, his wide eyes visible in the dim light filtering through the windows from the billboard.

“…Foggy?” Matt asked softly. He had a hand on Foggy’s shoulder where he’d shaken him awake, and Foggy was gripping his other wrist tight enough to bruise.

Foggy crumpled, collapsing forward and burying his head in Matt’s chest. Matt made a surprised noise and shifted position so he could wrap both arms around Foggy.

“I’m… I’m here, buddy,” he said soothingly, rubbing circles on Foggy’s back.

Foggy slowly got his breathing back under control, inhaling through his nose while he clutched at Matt’s shirt. Matt was sweaty, but the smell wasn’t unpleasant; it reminded Foggy of their college days, when Matt came back from the gym.

He tightened his grip on Matt’s shirt without meaning to when Matt started to release him, and Matt stilled again. The muscles on his stomach were taught beneath Foggy’s fingers.

“Sorry,” Foggy mumbled, letting go, but Matt stopped him from pulling back. He twisted around so that his legs were stretched out on the bed in front of him, and tugged Foggy back down onto his chest.

Foggy resisted for half a moment, then relaxed into Matt’s side. He closed his eyes, listening to Matt’s heartbeat where his ear was pressed against his chest. His own heartrate finally felt like it was slowing down to normal again. Matt’s fingers were still trailing lightly over his back. He wondered if Matt was conscious of doing it.

Suddenly, Foggy remembered the conversation he had with Karen earlier – _“So you and Matt, you’ve never…”_

He could _feel_ his heart lurch back into overdrive, and there was no way Matt wouldn’t hear it. Sure enough, Matt’s fingers stopped, and he tightened his one-armed hug.

Foggy tried to assess his emotions objectively. Was there a possibility that Karen was right?

“I’m alright Foggy,” Matt murmured, giving him a little shake. “I didn’t even throw a punch tonight. Anthony’s not involved, I’m sure of it. He doesn’t know of any connections between Carla and anything shady either. He’s never even heard of the Hand.”

Matt still thought he was worried, Foggy realised. He didn’t know Foggy was feeling… whatever it was that he was feeling. He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to focus on slowing his heart rate. Matt continued rubbing his back soothingly.

 _Later,_ he told the part of his mind that was haphazardly pulling out memories of his best friend to analyse. With an effort of will, aided by his exhaustion, he managed to force himself to relax.

Eventually, Matt’s hand stilled, sliding gently down Foggy’s back to rest on the mattress. Foggy blinked his eyes open and surreptitiously glanced up at him. Matt’s eyes were closed, head tilted backwards against the headboard, where he was slumped a little awkwardly.

This was probably when he should unwind himself from Matt’s arms. On the other hand, it was pretty darn comfy. Plus, it was hard to feel worried for Matt’s safety when he was literally _right there,_ safe and sound and warm.

 _Eh,_ thought Foggy, closing his eyes and relaxing onto Matt’s chest again, _screw it._

He was asleep before he’d fully finished the thought.

* * *

He woke feeling more rested than he had in a long, long time. Through the haze of sleep he could hear someone talking – Karen, maybe? He couldn’t bring himself to wake up all the way.

There was a deep rumble under his ear, then his pillow was sliding out from under him.

“Mmphff,” he hummed unhappily, twisting into the mattress. It didn’t feel the same though, and he reluctantly half opened his eyes.

It was late, judging by the light, close to lunch time. He rubbed at his eyes, yawning, then stretched. Halfway through, he suddenly remembered what had happened before he fell asleep, and froze, eyes flying open.

Matt was sitting on the side of the bed, still in his Daredevil clothes. His hair was epically rumbled and a little greasy, and he was stifling a yawn with one hand. Karen was standing in the open doorway, clearly showered and dressed, holding a pair of Matt’s mismatched mugs.

“I figured I shouldn’t let you sleep all day,” she said, raising an eyebrow at Foggy over Matt’s shoulder, “no matter how comfortable you looked.”

Foggy clamped his teeth to smother the squeaking noise bubbling up in his throat.

“Is that coffee?” Matt asked hopefully. He stood up, and stepped towards her with his hands out. “You’re a goddess.”

Karen gave him one of the mugs, smiling. “Where do you want yours, Foggy? You getting up now?”

“Yes!” he said, too loud. “Coffee! Thank you!”

She grinned at him while he flailed with the sheets, trying to sit up.

“Ugh,” Matt said, picking at the material of his shirt and wrinkling his nose. “On second thought, shower first, then coffee.” He slipped past Karen and headed to the bathroom. He was still wearing his Daredevil boots.

When the bathroom door shut behind him, Karen turned to Foggy and put a hand on one hip, tilting her head at him expectantly. He winced, avoiding eye contact while he took the coffee mug from her.

“Did Matt tell you what he found last night?” Foggy asked loudly, jerking his head in Matt’s direction and then holding a finger to his lips.

Karen narrowed her eyes at him before she answered. “Not yet, fill me in?”

He breathed a sigh of relief. He’d be hearing from her later, when Matt was out of earshot, but she’d let it drop for now.

He updated Karen in on what Matt had told him last night regarding Anthony’s lack of information, aided by Matt himself once he’d finished in the shower. They drank their coffees and walked to the office with plans to dig further into Carla’s history and start compiling a list of people possibly connected to the hand.

It was draining work. Karen collected names of people who’d worked for Alexandra Reid, Foggy tracked down kids who’d been through the Haven Compound, and Matt cross referenced both lists against Carla’s known associates. A depressing number of the kids that Foggy found were missing, all mention of them gone. He felt a resurgence of anger towards the Hand for taking these vulnerable children and moulding them into weapons for their cause. He imagined what might have happened if they’d found Matt, back when he was an angry and lonely kid reeling from the death of his dad, and quickly shied away from the thought.

They were still at it when the sun started to set, hours later. Foggy had been steeling himself for the inevitable moment when Matt left to suit up, and he noticed Karen glancing between Matt and the clock too.

To his surprise, Matt kept working even after the sun had dipped below the roofline.

“Matt?” he asked eventually, when it’d gotten dark enough that he needed to flick the desk lamp on.

“There’s going to be another attack tonight,” Matt said, hitting a button to pause his screen reader.

“Yeah?” Foggy asked when Matt didn’t continue.

“The city’s buzzing.” He cocked his head, focusing on things Foggy couldn’t hear.

“Are you… going out?” Karen asked, sharing a worried look with Foggy.

Matt was silent for several long moments.

“No.”

Foggy blinked, surprised. “What? Why not?”

The corned of Matt’s mouth tugged up in a wry smile. “Do you want me to go?”

“No!” Foggy said, a little harsher than he’d intended. “I mean, I want you safe, but I understand… why aren’t you going?”

Matt sighed, smile fading. “There’s no point me being out there. I haven’t found a single piece of useful information as Daredevil since this whole mess started.”

“That’s not your fault, Matt” Foggy said automatically, because Matt was making his guilt face and Foggy had a knee jerk instinct to step in when his friend was being an idiot martyr.

“My point is, we’ve made more progress from this side of things,” Matt continued. “I’m more useful here.”

Well. Foggy wasn’t going to argue with that if it meant Matt was going to stay safe. Karen seemed inclined to agree, because she passed Matt a braille printout of the last batch of names, and they wordlessly refocused on their tasks.

It was only a few hours past sunset when Foggy’s phone rang, cutting through the silence. He checked the caller ID, and felt a pang in his gut. It was Brett.

“…Brett?” he asked, putting the phone to his ear. Matt and Karen looked as tense as he felt.

“Foggy. Can you reach him?” Brett’s voice was tight and unhappy. Matt frowned and held out his hand, but Foggy ignored him.

“What happened?”

Brett’s answering sigh was punctuated by the sound of a police radio in the background. “Another attack. We can’t… I need… argh, I need his help, so fire up the goddamn bat signal or whatever.”

He wasn’t quite holding back a shake in his voice.

“Foggy,” Matt murmured, still holding out his hand for the phone.

Foggy put a hand up in a signal for Matt to wait, clutching at the phone. “Brett, are you sure that’s a good—"

Matt stepped forward around the conference table, and Foggy pulled the phone up and away, backing up.

“Matt—"

Matt slid a foot deftly behind Foggy’s, catching him by the arm when he stumbled and plucking the phone out of his hand.

“Detective Mahoney,” he said calmly, putting a hand on Foggy’s side to steady him. He was close enough that Foggy could hear Brett’s reply.

“Murdock.” Brett sounded surprised. “I assumed you’d be… out.”

“What do you need me to do?” Matt asked, giving Foggy’s arm an absent pat and stepping back. Foggy scowled at him.

Matt listened to Brett’s reply, expression grave. Karen watched him with wide, serious eyes, fingers jittering nervously on the tabletop.

“Where?” Matt asked. “… yes… yes I’ll be there.” He adjusted his grip on the phone. “And Brett… thank you for calling.”

“Where are we going?” Karen asked after he’d hung up, sliding papers into her bag.

“We…” Matt started to say, frowning, but he stopped when both Karen and Foggy paused to glare at him. “… are going to an apartment on Ninth Avenue.”

Matt was visibly tense on the walk, tilting his head backwards and forwards as he listened to every little sound. It made Foggy nervous, as did the fact that Matt wasn’t even making a show of using his cane. Daredevil’s loping grace looked odd in Matt’s grey business suit.

A block away from their destination, Matt stopped, mouth dropping open in surprise.

“She’s _alive!”_ he exclaimed, breaking into a trot. Foggy and Karen hurried to keep up with him.

Brett met them on the street, walking out to greet them so that he could talk without the officer posted at the door overhearing.

“If it isn’t the three biggest pains in my ass,” he said loudly before dropping his voice to continue. “Officially, you’re here because the kid requested a lawyer, okay? Unofficially…”

He let the sentence hang, and Matt nodded.

Brett led them past a trio of ambulances and through the crime scene tape, exchanging a nod with the stony-faced policewoman at the door. As they climbed the stairs, Foggy could feel the temperature start to drop. By the time Brett led them onto the 3rd floor, their breath was misting out in visible plumes.

Brett hesitated outside the door to the apartment, looking over his shoulder at them. He opened his mouth, shut it again, and shook his head. Then he stepped into the apartment.

Foggy’s brain started wailing at him from his first step inside. The apartment was dated; mismatched furniture, peeling cream paint and scratched hardwood floors. There was a decent sized battered brick fireplace, with a nearly depleted fire burning in it. Foggy couldn’t feel the heat of it in the slightest. The kitchen nook was in the same small room as the lounge, and the windows were fogged up with condensation.

Also, every surface he could see was liberally coated with dark, shining blood.

“Oh.” Karen’s soft, choked off gasp sounded unnaturally loud in Foggy’s ears.

Matt slid a foot across the floor as he stepped towards Foggy, fumbling to reach for his arm. Foggy moved it into his questing fingers on reflex, and Matt shuffled closer, fingers clutching at Foggy’s elbow and face studiously blank.

Sensory overload, he realised. He couldn’t even imagine what being in this room must be like for Matt. He shoved the part of his mind that was babbling incoherently to the side, locking down his panic, and put his other hand over Matt’s.

The small space was crowded; a pair of crime scene techs, another officer, and a paramedic tending to a young Asian woman with long dark hair, who was sitting on the floor as close as possible to the fire. Her face was smudged with soot, and most of her visible skin was coated in fresh bandages. The little that wasn’t covered looked red, like a bad sunburn.

Brett motioned for the two technicians and they left the room, slipping past Foggy, Matt and Karen.

“Her name is Mary Au,” Brett told them softly. “She’s barely spoken, except for when the paramedics tried to move her. She won’t leave.”

Foggy stepped forward, pulling Matt with him. “Ms Au?”

She didn’t look at him, sitting impassively while the paramedic adjusted a bandage on her forearm.

“My name is Foggy, Foggy Nelson, and this is my partner Matt. We’re lawyers, we’re here to help.”

She glanced at him, expression haunted, then her eyes skittered away.

“Could you give us a moment?” Karen asked the paramedic. He hesitated, then nodded and withdrew, packing medical paraphernalia into his bag.

“Detective Mahoney said you don’t want to leave, Ms Au, is that correct?” Foggy continued, fighting to keep his voice even.

She nodded without looking at him, shifting a little closer to the fireplace.

Foggy hesitated. “You’re not in any trouble with the police, Ms Au, if you’re not feeling up to giving a statement now we’ll make sure they wait until after you’ve received medical—"

“No,” she hissed, eyes wild. She inched closer to the fire again; she was nearly sitting on the hearth.  

Foggy put a hand up, concerned she might burn herself, but stopped himself from reaching for her. At his side Matt’s shallow breaths were slowing as he adjusted to the sensory input.

Karen kneeled beside the girl, also being careful not to touch her, and murmured to her soothingly.

Brett jerked his head at Foggy, and he and Matt stepped over to him.

“Far as we can tell, the three of them were here alone,” Brett said flipping through his notebook.

“… three?” Foggy asked, the wailing part of his mind getting louder again.

Brett nodded stiffly. “Three names on the lease, Mary and her two roommates, Brian and Ciara. From the little she’s said I think Brian gave her those burns, pushed her in the fire.”

Foggy frowned. Something about those names…

“Brian Walker and Ciara LeVera?” Matt asked, the first thing he’d said since entering the apartment.

Brett’s head snapped up from his notebook, and he narrowed his eyes at them suspiciously.

“How do you know them?” he demanded.

“They went to Haven,” Foggy said to Matt, realisation dawning, “all three of them were on my list.”

Matt nodded sombrely. “Which means…”

 _They’re Hand,_ he didn’t finish. Foggy looked back at Karen, nervous.

Mary was looking up at him; they’d been speaking loud enough for her to hear, he realised. Her dark eyes were brimming with tears.

“He _saved_ me,” she said, voice pleading. “We thought no one knew. They were all dead, no one knew.”

Karen stood up, backing up to stand next to Foggy and Matt.

“We should have _known,”_ Mary sobbed, starting to shake. “We serve life itself. _Always.”_

Foggy felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He shivered. God it was cold.

Mary hunched over, bandaged arms wrapped around herself. She whispered something, too low for Foggy to hear.

Matt heard it though.

He went still. Still as a statue, as a corpse, the colour draining from his face.

“What?” he breathed, his grip on Foggy’s arm tight enough to hurt.

“She’s coming for us all,” Mary keened, tears glistening amongst the ash on her face. “We failed her, failed our family.”

Foggy felt his breathing speeding up, apprehension growing like a wave.

“The Black Sky is coming.”

“No.” The sound was ripped from Matt’s throat, raw and aching. His fingers fell numbly away from Foggy’s arm.

Fear swamped Foggy like a breaking dam, and the lights flicked off. The fire spluttered, sparks flying, and a scream echoed into the apartment from the direction of the stairs.

“Oh God.” Karen was fumbling with her bag, trying to open it. Brett and the uniformed officer drew their guns, flanking the door. Matt was still staring at Mary.

Foggy jumped as a burst of gunfire boomed in the stairwell, backing away from the door.

Matt’s jaw was still hanging open, shock and disbelief written across his face.

“I still can’t sense—"

The door crashed open, knocking Brett backwards, and a shadow darted through the opening. Before Foggy had time to blink it enveloped the uniformed officer, lashing out with a limb wreathed in black fire. The officer paused to bring his hands to his neck, looking confused.

His throat was gone.

Chaos erupted. The paramedic was screaming, Brett was staggering to his feet, Karen was drawing her gun out of her bag. Beside Foggy, Mary was sobbing hysterically, crawling _into_ the fire.

“MATT!” Foggy yelled desperately; he was still standing frozen.

Matt unfroze, twisting around frantically. “Where is it?!”

The attacker was hunched over the cop, tearing and tearing.

“It’s there!” Karen screamed, and brought up her gun.

“No!” Foggy cried, but he was too late – she opened fire.

One shot, two, three; she took her time, aiming carefully with both hands.

There was a roaring noise, and the shadows around the figure bloomed forward to meet the bullets, swallowing them in billowing black fire.

“YOU!” said a woman’s voice, vibrating with fury. The attacker started stalking towards Karen.

Matt flinched like he’d been slapped, but he stepped forwards in front of Karen, shifting into a fighting stance and bringing up his fists.

Foggy noted with horror that he wasn’t quite facing the approaching monster. _He still couldn’t sense where it was._

Something knocked against Foggy’s leg, leaving a scalding spot of pain. A glance over his shoulder revealed Mary clawing at the fire, scattering burning coals.

“Matt!” Foggy and Karen screamed together as the attacker reached him.

Before Foggy could react it had Matt by the throat, yanking him forward and putting it’s face up to his. The shadows enveloped him, and Foggy’s feet were moving without him having any memory of instructing them to.

He staggered to the fireplace and seized a thick, burning log, then spun back around to see the shadows pull back from Matt. He was dangling limply from the creature’s grip on his throat.

“NOO!” Foggy screamed, stepping forwards and hefting the log like a baseball bat.

Before he’d made it two steps the figure hurled Matt to the side and into a wall. He crumpled limply to the ground.

“MATT!” Karen screamed again, but it broke off into a cry of pain as the monster sliced at her arm with shadows shaped like claws.

Foggy swung his log with all of his strength, catching the monster right in the head.

The shadows parted, driven back like waves around a rock.

Foggy saw her face.

Red-orange light bloomed from behind him, accompanied by a wave of heat. One of the coals Mary had scattered had set the curtains alight.

The attacker recoiled, putting up a hand to shield herself. Then she turned. And ran. In a blink she was gone.

Foggy stood holding his log, chaos roiling through his mind. Brett was only just straightening, gun out as his eyes darted around the room.

Karen groaned, and Foggy became aware that his hands were throbbing, blistered by the burning wood. He dropped the log, and it thudded to the ground with a burst of sparks.

He knelt at Karen’s side. She was shaking violently, clutching at her right arm. Her forearm was cut badly, Foggy couldn’t tell how deep. There was too much blood.

He looked around desperately and met the eyes of the paramedic. The man was cowering next to the sofa, splattered with blood from the dead policeman. His blank eyes roved over Foggy and Karen, then he shook himself a little and crawled towards them.

“Put pressure on that,” he told Foggy, handing him a bandage from his bag. Foggy didn’t process what he’d said until he pressed it into his hands.

He pushed down on Karen’s arm, wincing as she cried out.

 _Matt_ , he remembered, whipping his head around to look. Matt was sitting up, pushing himself up off the floor gingerly. There wasn’t any blood on him. Relief swamped Foggy, making him dizzy.

Brett stepped back inside the room; Foggy hadn’t noticed him leave.

“Gone,” was all he said.

The paramedic hauled Mary out of the fire, swatting at her smouldering clothes. She’d passed out at some point. Foggy couldn’t tell if she was breathing.

Matt was panting raggedly, propped up against the wall. He’d lost his glasses and his eyes were wide with grief and disbelief.

Foggy kept replaying the moment he’d seen the attacker’s face in his mind.

Dark, striking eyes, high cheekbones.

He’d known her.

Matt’s anguished whisper was barely audible over the crackle of the fire, but Foggy knew what he said anyway.

“Elektra.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Matty <3
> 
> Don't mind me, just sliding in some "there was only one bed" to go with your "fake relationship" and "mutual pining" that we'll be getting up to in the next couple of chapters. Oblivious Foggy has been upgraded to Confused Foggy :D
> 
> I was super impressed with everyone's guesses up until this point! Stay on your toes though, it wouldn't be a mystery if we'd solved all the twists at the halfway mark.


	6. CHAPTER 6: MATT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Matt's turn for a (very understandable) panic attack in this chapter. If you'd like to skip over it go from "The mental grip" to “How are we going to find" - it's near the end of the chapter. 
> 
> There are a lot of hospital scenes in this chapter. I've spent SO MUCH time in hospital as a visitor when my spouse fell off a cliff, but I have no idea how much American hospitals differ from Australian ones, so apologies if anything is out of place.

Matt’s entire world was tilted off axis, his thoughts tumbling uselessly around over and over again.

He barely remembered the ambulance ride to the hospital, he and Foggy squashed into the back with Karen. He supposed Foggy must have talked the paramedics into allowing that, because he couldn’t seem to structure his own thoughts enough to speak.

He surfaced from his fugue state once they’d arrived at the ER. He was gripping Foggy’s arm, and Foggy was arguing with a nurse. He could smell adrenalin and scalded flesh; Foggy was hurt.

“You need to stay here, sir!” the nurse told Foggy firmly. She ignored Foggy’s noise of disagreement and turned on her heel, following the paramedics pushing Karen’s stretcher through a set of doors. They swung shut behind her, leaving them standing in a room with a dozen scattered heartbeats. Metro General’s Emergency Department waiting room, he realised; he’d been there before.

“Foggy?” Matt asked, voice trembling. He tracked Karen’s heartbeat as she was taken further away. It was thrumming along, irregular and fast, but strong.

“Matt,” Foggy said back, like he’d just remembered something. He twisted about, presumably looking for something, then tugged Matt to the far side of the room. There was a little alcove with a few chairs.

Matt widened his awareness of his surroundings, then flinched as the cascade of sound from the hospital crashed into him. He grit his teeth and sorted through it, using Foggy’s heartbeat as a touchstone.

The memory of the fight was battering against the mental defences he’d thrown up, and they came crashing down all at once.

_Elektra,_ he thought dazedly, stumbling. Foggy caught him, and lowered him into one of the sandpaper rough chairs.

First her voice, angry and cracking like a whip and unmistakably hers. Then her smell; crocus flower and hard steel, soft and sharp at once. Then… her lips on his, the bite of her teeth.

She’d cut his lip, he realised, touching a finger to it lightly. Oh God, she was _alive._

But… _Carla._ The string of retired Hand members. The police officers. _Karen._

He stood abruptly. “I have to go.”

Foggy’s heart lurched, and he stood as well, clutching at Matt’s arm.

“Matty, no,” he pleaded, trying to push him back down again.

“I need to find her,” Matt insisted, “I need to find out why she’s doing this, _stop_ her.”

“How is it even possible?” Foggy asked, stepping in front of him and blocking his way out of the alcove. “I thought she… I thought she died, Matt.”

Matt hesitated. “It’s complicated,” he hedged.

“I _swear to God Matt!”_ Foggy hissed, crowding him back against the row of chairs. “I know this is hard for you, but if you try to pull your ‘need to know’ bullshit on me right now—"

Matt put a hand on Foggy’s chest and shook his head. He could feel Foggy’s racing heart, as well as hear it.

“Foggy, no, I’m not trying to…” he forced himself to take a breath. “You know the Hand, what they do…”

He filled Foggy in on what he knew about the Black Sky, and what Elektra was to the Hand. Foggy was silent, letting him talk, but he didn’t step back either, blocking Matt’s exit with his body.

“Danny said they come back… different. Less human each time,” he finished. “But Foggy, she was still in there last time, underneath it. I got her back, right at… right at the end.”

Foggy let out a shaky breath in understanding.

“Right,” he said, then paused. Matt couldn’t tell what he was feeling. “Okay, Matt. We’ll try and get her back.”

Matt’s jaw dropped. “Foggy…”

“We’ll try, Matt. I know what she… we’ll try.” His voice hardened again. “But Matt, she tried to kill Karen.”

Matt flinched.

“If we can’t save her Matt, we have to stop her.”

Matt tried to talk, swallowed thickly, then tried again. “I know.”

“I am telling you we will find her,” Foggy said, enunciating each word clearly. “But not. Right. Now.”

Matt frowned, but Foggy motioned him for silence.

“Listen to me Matt. You _cannot_ go out looking for her right now.” He held up one finger. “Firstly, you can’t track her. You can’t even sense her when she’s ripping someone to pieces in front of you.”

Matt hunched his shoulders, crumpling in on himself a little.

“Secondly,” Foggy continued, holding up a second finger, “we can’t leave Karen here unprotected. She came back for Mary, she might come back for Karen too.”

Matt shrunk a little further, ducking his head.

“Lastly,” Foggy’s voice lost its authoritative snap, breaking on the word, “I am really, really freaking out right now, and I need my best friend.”

The end of his sentence broke off into a sob, and Matt drew him forward into a hug, squeezing him tightly. Foggy didn’t cry, just stood for a minute taking shuddering breaths. Matt squeezed him tighter.

“You’re hurt,” Matt remembered, pulling back to take Foggy’s hand and run his fingertips gently over his palm. The skin was hot, and blistered at the base of Foggy’s thumb.

“Burnt myself on the log,” Foggy said, shivering. “I can barely feel it.”

“Are you here for Karen Page?” a voice interrupted. Female, middle aged, most likely a nurse judging by the rasp of scrubs and various smells.

“Yes!” Foggy said hopefully, pulling his hand out of Matt’s. “Is she okay?”

“Come with me,” she said, gesturing. “She’s going to be fine. We’ve patched her up, she’s unconscious but stable.”

She wasn’t lying, exactly, but she was avoiding telling them something.

“Any complications?” he asked, making a show of fumbling for Foggy’s arm. He felt vulnerable without his cane and glasses.

He heard the little “Oh” she let out as she noticed his unfocused eyes. Then her heart sped up a little. Guilt? Regret?

“The laceration was very deep,” she said hesitantly, leading them past the doors Karen had gone through earlier. “The doctors are concerned that the movement of her hand may be impaired.”

Matt felt the blood drain from his face.

“We don’t know for sure!” the nurse hurried to reassure them. “She may be totally fine.”

She turned into a room, and Matt recognised Karen’s scent under the overpowering smell of antiseptic. A machine beeped steadily in time with her sleeping heartbeat, and the drip of an IV plinked softly. Together the sound and smell reminded him vividly of his own stay in hospital, and he pushed the memory down.

The nurse turned to Foggy. “You mentioned to the paramedics that you’re her emergency contact, and hold her power of attorney? Would you mind taking a moment to fill out some basic paperwork? The bulk can wait, but…”

Foggy hesitated, looking at Matt.

“Go Foggy,” Matt told him. “I’ll stay with her.” _I won’t leave while you’re not looking._

He sat in another scratchy hospital chair, held Karen’s uninjured hand, and waited while Foggy followed the nurse back to a central station.

Foggy huffed out a sigh of relief when he returned and saw Matt was still there. He pulled another chair up next to Matt’s, and the two of them sat in silence.

“Thank you for staying,” Foggy said after a while.

Matt nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Before too long Foggy began to nod sleepily, heartrate slowing. His head drifted forward until he lost balance and jerked himself awake with a gasp.

“It’s okay,” Matt told him, letting go of Karen’s hand to touch him lightly on the shoulder.

Foggy rubbed at his eyes, breathing slowing again. “Sorry.”

“You can sleep, you know” Matt said, “I’ll keep watch.”

Foggy deliberated for a moment, then got up and pulled over another pair of chairs from the other side of the room. He arranged them in a row next to Matt’s chair, then sat in the middle one.

“What’re you—" Matt started to ask, then stopped as Foggy pulled his legs up onto the chairs and twisted sideways to lie down with his head and shoulders draped across Matt’s lap.

Matt’s breath hitched, and he felt suddenly unsure about where he should put his hands. “What…”

“Comfy pillow for me, and now you won’t be able to get up without waking me up,” Foggy explained.

“Oh,” Matt said. That… made sense.

He sat with his arms propped up awkwardly on the back of his chair, muscles stiff, while he listened to Foggy’s breathing slow down and even out. When he was sure Foggy was asleep he hesitated, then slowly rested his arms on Foggy’s back. Still asleep, Foggy made a contented humming noise.

Matt waited for hours, trying to meditate but failing spectacularly. He filtered through the buzzing sounds of the hospital layer by layer. Air conditioning and plumbing. The clattering racket of an MRI machine. Hundreds of beeping heart monitors and their accompanying heart beats. A woman sobbing two rooms down the hall. The low hum of quiet conversations.

He sensed Brett coming down the hall before he entered Karen’s room. He smelled like antiseptic and gauze too, though not as strongly as Karen.

“Detective,” he greeted softly as he entered, keeping his voice low for Foggy and Karen.

“Murdock,” Brett replied after an odd hesitation. “You all okay?”

His head was tilted down lower than Matt’s face, looking at Foggy. With a start Matt realised he was absentmindedly carding his fingers through Foggy’s soft hair, and pulled his hand back like he’d been burnt.

The sudden motion woke Foggy, and he stirred, nuzzling into Matt’s thigh and yawning. Brett let out an amused snort, and Matt felt his face heating up.

“Foggy,” he said, shaking him gently.

“Matty?” Foggy asked sleepily as he sat up.

“Hey, Nelson,” Brett said, still sounding amused.

“Brett!” Foggy said, straightening up fully, “That’s an impressive head bandage you’re sporting, very fashionable.”

Brett made a hmph sound at him. “How’re you two holding up?”

“We’re fine,” Foggy answered. “How about you?”

“Great,” said Brett calmly, “If you’re fine then I won’t have to feel guilty when I _arrest your asses.”_

Foggy swallowed. “What?”

Brett crossed his arms, presumably glaring at them. “You know things about this case that you haven’t told me. Tell me. Now.”

“Detective—" Matt began, but Brett pointed a finger at him.

“Don’t give me that shit, Murdock, what the hell do you know about this thing?”

Matt ground his teeth. “The NYPD isn’t equipped for this, Mahoney. Telling you will get people killed. Get _more_ people killed.”

He could hear Brett’s teeth grinding too. “And that’s your call, is it?”

“Brett,” Foggy said softly.

“I guess it is,” Matt snapped, standing up. “ _You_ called _me_ for help, remember?”

“So, help me!” Brett snarled, “Give me the information I need to do my God Damned job!”

“Brett!” Foggy yelled, stepping between them, and they both turned to face him. Foggy took a steadying breath. “I think Matt’s right.”

“What?!” both Matt and Brett said, Brett incredulously and Matt surprised.

“Brett, this whole thing is… Midland Circle adjacent,” Foggy continued. “I know that you trust us, trust him.” He nodded to Matt. “You trusted him even before you knew who he was, even when you knew you probably shouldn’t.”

Brett crossed his arms again, but didn’t correct him.

“Trust me when I say that at this point, the best course of action is to give us the benefit of the doubt, just for a little bit.”

He spread his hands in a gesture that Matt recognised from court; he used it when he needed to impress a jury with his sincerity.

“Give us twenty-four hours, then we’ll tell you everything – all cards on the table. Right Matt?”

Matt hesitated, and Foggy’s tone hardened. “ _Right_ , Matt?”

He pursed his lips, but nodded curtly.

“Deal, Brett?”

Brett stared at them for several long moments, then let out the breath he’d been holding.

“God Damnit, fine, deal. Twenty-four hours Foggy, that’s it.”

“Thank you,” Foggy said earnestly.

“Thanks,” Matt echoed.

Brett sighed. “Don’t make me regret it.”

He tugged one of the chairs out of the row Foggy had made, and slumped into it.

“Detective… _Brett_. Can you stay here with Foggy and watch Karen?” Matt asked. The impatience was building under his skin like a feverish itch.

Brett started to nod, but Foggy whirled towards him.

“ _Excuse me?!”_ he growled, voice deep with anger.

“Foggy—"

“Stay here _with Foggy?”_

“ _You are not—"_ Foggy choked off the end of his sentence, heart beating like a drum. “Brett,” he said with forced calm, “Would you mind watching Karen for a moment while I… _speak…_ with Matthew.”

Brett rolled his hand in a ‘do as you will’ gesture, and Foggy grabbed Matt by the wrist and dragged him from the room.

“Foggy…” Matt tried, but Foggy ignored him, pulling him down the hall until he found an empty room. He shut the door behind them, and rounded on Matt with a snarl.

“Matthew. Michael. Murdock. There is no freaking chance you are leaving this hospital without me! None!”

He punctuated his words with a finger jabbed into Matt’s chest.

“Foggy, I can’t keep you safe out there—"

“Keep _ME_ safe out there?!” Foggy’s voice broke, hoarse with his anger. “What about you?! If I hadn’t remembered Danny’s advice about the fire Karen would probably be dead right now, Matt. I probably would be too.”

Matt felt like he’d been punched in the gut. “Foggy…”

“You were useless in that fight, Matt! You can’t fight her if you can’t sense her under whatever the fuck that black fire thing is. You could walk right past her and never know!”

Matt stopped trying to speak, shying away from his friend’s anger.

“I am _not_ going to stand by! Not this time!” Foggy’s voice got progressively louder until he was shouting.

“ _The last time I let you face her alone, I LOST YOU!”_

His words echoed around the room, and Matt could only stand with his mouth hanging open while Foggy panted like he’d just run a mile. His muscles tensed, and Matt flinched, senses warning him of an incoming punch.

Foggy hugged him instead.

He was too shocked to hug him back, standing stiffly while Foggy held him close.

“You’re not leaving without me, Murdock,” he said gruffly into Matt’s shoulder. “Not unless you knock me out right now.”

Matt recovered enough to tentatively raise his arms to return the hug.

“Okay,” he agreed, voice quiet. “Okay, Foggy.”

He let himself linger, lost in the sound of Foggy’s heartbeat. He held him until it’d slowed back to normal again, then reluctantly pulled back.

They returned to Karen’s room, and thankfully Brett didn’t ask any questions.

“Is Mary’s apartment still locked down by your people?” Matt asked him, thinking ahead. He knew Elektra had been there, it was a good place to start.

Brett shook his head. “It’s empty. Usually we’d have CSI crawling over it still, but… no-one wanted to stay. We evacuated the building and helped the FDNY put out the fire, then we taped it, locked it, and left. Techs will be back over everything in the morning, not that I expect they’ll find anything.”

“Is she okay, by the way – Mary?” Foggy asked.

“Hopefully,” Brett replied. “They’re treating her for smoke inhalation, and she messed her skin up pretty bad in the fire. What connection does she—" he stopped, and coughed. “Nope, twenty-four hours.”

“Thanks, Brett.”

Brett grunted in reply. He picked up a plastic case that Matt hadn’t noticed him carrying. He tilted his head, listening to the sound bounce off it, and inhaled.

“I grabbed these out of the squad car,” Brett said, flicking open the case. “Figured they might come in useful for a killer that doesn’t like fire.”

It took Matt a moment to place the familiar smell. _Flares._

He nodded. “Good idea.”

Brett watched him for a second. “You smelled them, didn’t you? You are aware that’s kinda creepy?”

Foggy snorted. “He’s aware. Thanks Brett.”

Brett handed over the case to Foggy, and they said their goodbyes and left.

The took a taxi back to Mary’s apartment. Matt couldn’t imagine what the driver thought they’d been up to, still covered in soot and Foggy splattered with dried blood stains. He didn’t ask any questions though; Matt supposed he was giving them the benefit of the doubt since they were leaving a hospital.

His tension mounted as they neared Mary’s apartment. He could hear the street lights buzzing, so it must still be dark, but the sun would be rising soon. The got out of the cab on Mary’s block, Foggy’s heartrate racing.

“What’s the plan here, Matt?” he whispered.

“We go upstairs,” he replied, just as quiet. “Pass me a flare.”

Foggy did, keeping one in his hand for himself as well. Matt could hear it shaking.

Don’t listen, he told himself as he picked the lock to Mary’s building. You won’t hear her. _Feel._ Feel for the cold.

He focused on the apartment as they climbed the stairs together. It was a normal temperature again, smelling like blood, smoke, and wet carpet.

Foggy put a hand on Matt’s back when they reached Mary’s floor, grasping at his shirt gently. Matt took a breath.

“Stay alert,” he murmured, then held the flare up in both hands, ready to snap off the starter.

“Elektra!”

Foggy jumped when Matt yelled, letting out a little squeak that he stifled immediately. His fingers clutched at Matt’s shirt.

They waited. Nothing.

Matt inched forward, pulling Foggy along with him. No fear compulsion, though he was feeling pretty terrified regardless. No cold snaps.

He tested the handle to Mary’s door. It was deadbolted, but the rattles told him that the screws attaching it to the door frame were rusted and short.

“Back up,” he told Foggy, winding up for a kick.

“Matt, wait!” Foggy hissed, stopping him with a hand on his arm. “Brett gave me the key you lunatic.”

“Oh.” Matt took it from him sheepishly. He unlocked the door and stepped into the apartment. The carpet squelched underfoot; the smell was horrendous.

“Elektra?” he called again. The empty apartment echoed.

He relaxed fractionally, lowering the flare. “She’s not here.”

Foggy blew out a breath. “What do we do now?”

“We wait,” Matt said. “She’s been here twice, she might come back.”

“Then I’m going to start another fire.”

Matt stood guard while Foggy scraped the sodden coals out of the hearth and got the fire going. They sat near it, side by side, and settled in to wait.

“I’m struggling to maintain peak terror level for this long,” Foggy said after a while, and Matt huffed out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh.

“I think we’re safe, next to the fire,” Matt told him.

“Gee thanks Daredevil, I feel so much better now.”

That did make Matt laugh. They fell silent again.

His thoughts strayed back to his memories of the attack again. No footsteps, nothing but the sound of the poor policeman being murdered to hint at her location. Even that had been weirdly modulated so that Matt couldn’t place it accurately.

The sound of her voice when she shouted at Karen had overridden every hard-won reflex he’d honed, freezing him in place like a startled deer.

Then pressure on his throat, smooth and cold as ice. He hadn’t noticed when he was pulled forwards, because all he could sense, all he could smell, was her. The biting cold wrapped around him, cutting off his awareness of Karen, of Foggy, of anything. Her lips had been soft, but lightly chapped, like he remembered, and she’d… he frowned. She’d tasted like peppermint. She’d never tasted like peppermint before. Like spices, occasionally like blood, if she’d been fighting, but never peppermint.

“She didn’t taste right,” he said, without thinking.

There was a beat, and Foggy said “ _What?!”_

Right, he… hadn’t told Foggy about the kiss.

“Uh, when she grabbed me, before she threw me, she uh…”

“Kissed you,” Foggy finished for him, disbelieving.

Matt nodded. “It didn’t taste like her. It _sounded_ like her, and it _smelled_ like her. But it didn’t taste like her. Foggy, what if it wasn’t her?”

Foggy was silent for a second. “It looked like her, Matt.”

Matt didn’t reply, brain churning over the possibilities.

Foggy made a contemplative noise, and Matt turned to face him.

“I just thought,” Foggy said, “Why did she target Karen?”

Matt frowned. “Karen shot her?”

“Yeah, I thought that too, but she called out to her like she recognised her. She walked right past Brett to get to her.”

Matt blinked. Foggy was right.

“And why Carla?” Foggy asked, building momentum. “All the others are connected to the Hand. I’ve just been assuming that Carla was too, and we missed it, but what if she’s not? What if she’s the exception, like Karen?”

“Why would Elektra, if it _is_ Elektra, target Carla if she wasn’t Hand?” Matt asked slowly.

Foggy thought for a moment, then sucked in a breath. His heartbeat stuttered like he was lying.

“Foggy?”

His breath hitched several times, like he was planning and discarding various ways to say what he wanted to say. Matt licked his lips, suddenly apprehensive.

“You… flirted with Carla,” he said tentatively. “What if she saw? And the last time Elektra saw Karen, you two were…” He wiggled a hand at Matt.

Matt felt like his heart had stopped. _No…_

His face must have been doing something drastic, because Foggy made a wounded noise and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Matty, it’s not your fault—"

“I killed Carla?” Matt asked, voice cracking. “By, by flirting with her?!”

“No, Matt, even if that’s the reason she was targeted, that’s not on you—"

“Oscar!” Matt said suddenly, getting to his feet. “What if she saw… Foggy we have to go now!”

He grabbed Foggy’s hand and hauled him up, ignoring his spluttering. If someone else was hurt because he’d let himself enjoy some harmless flirting…

He raced back down the stairs, pulling Foggy behind him, and out onto the street.

“Matt, we should lock—" Foggy was saying, but Matt ignored him. He turned towards their office building and Oscar’s hotel, and started jogging down the street. He couldn’t bring himself to stop to hail a cab.

Foggy was puffing by the time they reached the hotel across from their office.

“Matt,” he gasped, “It’s way too early, and we look like we just walked off the set of a horror movie—"

Matt tugged him forwards again, past the entrance to the hotel and into a side alley. He shushed Foggy, and pushed him to the wall beside a service entry door. Foggy stopped talking, leaning back against the wall and gulping for air.

Matt had the lock open before Foggy had his breath back. He paused, listening for the tell-tale buzz of electrics that would mark the door as alarmed, then pulled it open. He grabbed Foggy’s hand again, and started taking the stairs two at a time, broadening his focus.

No cold spots, he realised with relief, slowing his pace a little. They left the stairwell on the first floor, walking past the apartment doors. Matt focused on the inhabitants one by one, searching for Oscar. He was about to give up and take the stairs to the next floor up when a familiar scent of expensive cologne around the last doorway brought him up short.

He tilted his head. There was a single man inside, humming, and the sound of someone rubbing a cloth over something made of glass – drying dishes, perhaps? The man sang a snippet of the song he was humming, and Matt recognised his voice; it was Oscar.

Foggy straightened from where he’d been doubled over, winded.

“Matt,” he started, but Matt stepped up and rapped loudly on Oscar’s door with his fist. “Damnit, Matt.”

Oscar jumped, heart rate spiking, and there was a tinkle of breaking glass and a stream of curses. He muttered “Who in the…” to himself as he walked to the door.

He opened it, and stared at them for a full five seconds. “…Matthew?”

Matt was suddenly aware that he was covered in soot, sweaty from their run, with watery blood staining the bottoms of his slacks. He was also still missing both his glasses and his cane. He wanted both desperately.

“Oscar… I was… we were just… that is…”

Foggy sighed. “Mr. Bardell, good morning. We’re so sorry to barge in on you like this, and we’ll totally understand if you’re not comfortable letting us in. We’ve had an eventful night, and we have reason to believe your life might be in danger.”

Thank God for Foggy.

“Well,” Oscar said, a bit more of his usual charm infusing his voice. “That sounds like a story that I can’t wait to hear. Come in, boys.”

Matt was conscious of how filthy his shoes were as they entered the room.

“Take a seat,” Oscar said, “I need a moment to clean up some broken glass. I dropped a display case when you knocked.”

“Do you need help?” Foggy asked, guiding Matt to the sofa.

“No, no, I’m fine. Though I’m grateful that this beauty isn’t as fragile as its housing.” He held up an object that clinked metallically; something hanging on a chain?

They waited while he swept the glass into a dust pan, then sat down on the chair across from them.

“So,” Oscar said, leaning crossing an ankle over his knee and leaning back. “Tell me about this eventful night of yours.”

Matt drew another blank, but Foggy stepped in again before he could flounder.

“We can’t tell you all the details, attorney client privilege, but we’re concerned that Matt might have a stalker.”

Oscar hummed, sounding intrigued.

“There was a lady that Matt hit on that was assaulted, so he was worried about you because…” Foggy trailed off, heat rising in his cheeks.

“Ah,” Oscar said frankly, “Because I’ve been shamelessly flirting with him.”

Foggy gaped, and Matt felt his own ears burning.

Oscar chuckled. “Well, I haven’t had any run ins with homicidal exes, but I appreciate your rushing to my rescue.”

Matt cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to involve you in this.”

Oscar waved a hand at him. “Not your fault, darling.” He steepled his hands, humming a thoughtful breath. “Though I must say, if you thought that all this would make you less interesting, you’re sorely mistaken.”

It was Matt’s turn to gape.

“It seems a shame to be at risk of envy-fuelled assault when I haven’t actually enjoyed your company for a date,” he continued. “Any chance you’d be willing to make it worth my while?”

“I…” Matt stuttered, shocked to speechlessness. Foggy’s heartbeat lurched and sped up, and Matt tilted his head for a second, listening.

“I’m… sorry,” he finished. “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”

“Ah well,” Oscar shrugged. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

Foggy cleared his throat awkwardly. “We should… probably get back, Matt, now that we know Oscar’s safe.”

“Right,” Matt agreed, standing up. He felt so off balance. “Sorry again, for… this,” he said, gesturing inelegantly at himself and Foggy.

“Before you go,” Oscar said, fishing something out of his pocket. “Here.” He held it out to Foggy. “My number; would you mind putting it in Matthew’s phone for me, when you get a chance?”             

Foggy hesitated a beat too long before taking it. “Of course, I’m happy to.”

_Lie,_ said his heart beat.

They finished their awkward goodbyes, and left. The receptionist stared at them in shock as they left through the front entrance.

“She must not have seen,” Matt said when they were on the street. “She must not have…”

The mental grip he had on his emotions slipped, weakened by exhaustion and confusion.

“ _Oh God,”_ he whispered. “Elektra…”

He stopped dead, putting his hands over his ears and trying to wrestle control back again. Foggy tugged him out of the flow of early morning traffic and led him to a bench. Matt felt a little dizzy. When had he started breathing so fast?

Foggy pulled him forward until Matt’s head was resting against his shoulder and held him close. He murmured soothing noises in Matt’s ear while Matt shook and tried to slow his breathing. Foggy’s heartbeat, so loud at such a close range, gave him something to focus on. He breathed him in, burying his nose at the base of his throat. The familiar scent washed over him.

He made himself pull back when he was feeling close to being back in control again. Foggy let him move away, but kept his arm around him.

“How are we going to find her, Foggy?” he asked raggedly. “My goddamned senses are useless. All we’ve done since this whole thing started was follow the trail of bodies. How in Hell do we find her before she kills someone else?”

“I may have an idea,” Foggy replied cautiously.

Matt sat up straighter, shocked. “What?”

“You are… most definitely not going to like it.”

Matt frowned, but stayed silent, gesturing for Foggy to continue.

“She’s targeting surviving members of the Hand. And possibly people you’ve shown romantic interest in.”

Matt nodded warily.

“We can’t predict which ex-cult member ninja she’ll go after, but it’s a pretty sure bet that if you were to publicly be seen being romantically involved with someone, they’d skip to the top of her hit list.”

_He couldn’t possibly mean…_

“So, all we have to do is act like we’re dating in public, and she’ll come to us.” Foggy jerked a thumb at himself. “We use me as bait.”

… _he did._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaassss, fake dating trope here we come!


	7. CHAPTER 7: FOGGY

Matt went deathly still after hearing Foggy’s suggestion.

“No.”

He spat the word like poison. His throat worked, like he was trying to say more, but nothing came out.

“Matt—”  

“No.”

Foggy huffed, irritated. “Matt, it’s a good plan.”

“NO!” Matt yelled, then lowered his voice when several passers-by stopped to look. “Foggy, I’m not even discussing this. No.”

Foggy bristled. “We are so discussing it! What if some poor women checks out your ass on the subway and gets ripped to pieces? What if she comes back for Karen?”

Matt blanched, turning away from Foggy. “No,” he whispered, but he sounded less certain this time.

Foggy pressed his advantage.

“Less than twenty hours left before Brett gets involved again too. Then more policemen and women will die as well.”

Matt shook his head violently.

“What about people like Colleen, sucked up by the Hand’s brainwashing but trying to find their feet on their own? Do they deserve to die too?”

“ _Foggy,”_ Matt hissed, pained.

“I’m doing this with or without you, Matt. I’ll change my Facebook status to ‘in love with Matt Murdock’ if I have to. Then she’ll come for me anyway. I’m not going to let anyone else die.”

Matt squeezed his eyes shut. Foggy waited, letting the moment lengthen. Then he delivered his closing argument.

“How are you gonna feel if someone else dies, Matty, when you could have done something to stop it?”

Knockout.

Matt shuddered, slumping like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Foggy pushed down his guilt; this _was_ a good plan.

“Okay,” Matt whispered, looking like he was agreeing to boil himself in acid. “Okay.”

He squared his shoulders and stood abruptly. He took a slow controlled breath, steeling himself. Then he… changed.

He leant forward, offering Foggy his hand and flashing his teeth in a confident smirk. The force of it without his glasses to hide his eyes was… considerable. Foggy felt his heart lurch.

It was possible he’d miscalculated.

Matt took his hand and pulled him up. Too close, he was much too close.

Matt’s smile softened as he steadied Foggy, becoming a bit less flirty and a bit more… Matt. Foggy held his breath, staring transfixed.

“Come on,” Matt said, voice deep and a little breathless. He slid his hand up Foggy’s arm and settled it at his elbow.

Foggy’s mind put the moment on instant replay, dwelling on the way Matt had leant in a little as he spoke, how his fingertips had trailed over his forearm. He was so distracted that he didn’t realise they’d started walking until they were a block away from the office and Oscar’s hotel.

“Where—” Foggy’s voice came out too high, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Where are we going?”

“My apartment for a change of clothes, and then the hospital,” Matt replied. “If you’re right, then there’s a good chance the killer is watching Karen and Mary.”

Foggy frowned. Matt had said ‘the killer’ and not ‘Elektra’. He didn’t bring it up; he didn’t think Matt believed that Spectre wasn’t Elektra, not really.

They stopped at a light. Matt stepped in close, bringing up his hand to fiddle idly with the ends of Foggy’s hair.

“Green,” Foggy managed to say, voice strangled, a bit too late.

So, there was a good chance that Karen was right. It was possible that he had feelings for Matt.

They reached Matt’s apartment, raced through a shower each, and changed into clean clothes. Matt acted like his normal self the whole time they were in private, which was… a relief? Maybe?

Foggy survived the trip to the hospital, hoping desperately that Matt assumed whatever backflips his heart was doing were caused by nerves.

Before they got to Karen’s room, Matt pulled him to the side halfway down a crowded hallway. He slid his hand from Foggy’s elbow to his lower back.

“What are you doing?” Foggy hissed, head spinning.

Matt brought his other hand up to Foggy’s cheek, running the back of his knuckles over his skin. He paused at Foggy’s chin, gently tilting his head to the side.

“I’m having a romantic looking moment,” he murmured in Foggy’s ear, close enough that his breath tickled Foggy’s neck.

Foggy’s brain shut down entirely, and Matt had to tug him to get him moving again.

Karen was awake when they entered her room, though she was deathly pale with dark bruises under her eyes. Matt let go of Foggy to hug her hello. Brett nodded blearily at them from his chair, both hands cupped around a coffee mug.

Karen was happy to see them, and visibly burning with curiosity. She kept her questions vague though; she’d obviously clued in that they were keeping Brett in the dark for now. Foggy was struggling to keep track of the conversation, he kept wait for Matt to do… something.

“How’s your plan coming along” Brett asked them. “I assume you do have a plan?”

“We do,” Matt told him, putting a hand on Foggy’s shoulder.

Foggy full body flinched, and Brett and Karen both frowned at him, confused.

“Yep! We have a plan! A good plan! In fact, we should go do the plan now, Matt, lots of planning to do, just wanted to check on Karen.”

He dragged a bemused looking Matt out of the room, clenching his teeth to stop the nervous babble.

“Foggy,” Matt said softly, stopping him a few steps down the hall from Karen’s door. His fingers tangled in Foggy’s tie, tugging him forward gently. “Are you alright?”

His brow was pinched together over his glasses, face genuinely concerned.

Holy shitting fuck, Foggy wanted to kiss him. _Needed_ to kiss him, right this second. The realisation hit him like a ton of bricks, his own heartbeat drumming in his ears.

The best time to realise you’re in love with your best friend? Not after you’ve convinced him to pretend to be in love you for an elaborate ruse designed to lure a supernatural murderer into a trap.

Matt’s grip on Foggy’s tie tightened, and his head tilted to the side in the way Foggy knew meant he was listening, listening to Foggy. He realised that Matt probably _knew_ what he was thinking and feeling, probably knew before Foggy did. In the same instant he remembered that every single woman he’d seen Matt with had been insanely hot, supermodel hot. Even if Matt wasn’t straight, if Oscar was any indication his taste in men was equally discerning.

“Foggy—” Matt started to say, leaning in, but Foggy saw Brett leaving Karen’s room and jumped back, tearing himself away from Matt.

“Brett!” Foggy said loudly, “We were just—”

“Don’t want to know,” Brett interrupted. “Just needed to tell you that some of our people are on their way here to question Karen about last night. If you don’t want to be caught up in processing you’d best make yourselves scarce.”

“Brett…” Foggy knew how much he hated skirting the law.

“Shut it, Nelson. If you’re going, get gone.” He scowled at them and walked back into Karen’s room.

“This way,” Matt said when Foggy went to walk back the way they’d come in. “They’re already in the building, we need to loop around.”

Matt led them through the bustling corridors, still walking much closer than their usual guiding arrangement. Foggy resolved to ignore the hell out of his emotions, and keep his shit together until they’d stopped Elektra.

His resolution lasted nearly five minutes, which he thought was a pretty good run, all things considered.

They entered the hospital cafeteria, packed with the type of people you usually saw in a hospital in the morning; bleary eyed family members who’d stayed the night with a sick loved one, a variety of medical workers grabbing coffee before or after their shift, patients in hospital gowns sharing a meal with their family or just avoiding the food the hospital provided. The buzz of a hundred different conversations and smells from a dozen different types of food were enough that even Foggy needed a second to adjust, tired as he was.

Sure enough, Matt scrunched up his face and held a little tighter to Foggy’s arm. Foggy’s usual strategy for helping ‘overwhelmed by my supersenses’ Matt was to chatter to him about an unimportant topic; the distraction seemed to work pretty well.

But… their current arrangement opened up some new possibilities for distracting Matt. It was probably a terrible idea. Recently discovered bisexuality aside, he shouldn’t taunt himself with something he’d never have for real.

Foggy did it anyway.

“Hey,” he said softly, pivoting to face Matt. He cupped Matt’s jaw, running his fingers over the rough stubble then up and over his ear, pushing through Matt’s short hair.

Matt’s frown eased immediately, face going slack, though he sucked in a sharp breath. Foggy moved his hand to the nape of Matt’s neck, tangling his fingers in Matt’s short curls.

“ _Foggy,”_ Matt said, voice low and rasping.

Oh. That was… a bit more than Foggy was equipped to handle. His grip tightened reflexively, pulling at Matt’s hair.

Matt shivered.

Foggy froze, staring at him. He was… was he?

Matt licked his lips. “Foggy… are… do you…”

Foggy couldn’t stop looking at his mouth. He swayed forward, unable to stop—

—and Matt suddenly recoiled like he’d been slapped.

Foggy let go, frantic excuses bubbling to his lips, “Matt, I’m s—”

“ _She’s here,”_ Matt hissed, whipping around to his left.

“What?” Foggy said stupidly, then repeated himself as Matt’s words sunk in, “ _What?!”_

Matt left the cafeteria, taking confident strides that left Foggy jogging to catch up. God, there were so many people here.

 _“Matt!”_ Foggy snapped, grabbing his arm. “ _Together_ , Matt, you can’t see her!” He fumbled to take out one of the flares from the inside pocket of his jacket as they walked.

“She stopped talking,” Matt reported, quickening his pace.

Foggy scanned the crowd frantically, eyes flicking over the faces. A security guard squinted at them suspiciously as they hurried past.

“I’ve lost her,” Matt said, stopping in a quieter hallway. He shook his head, brows drawn together in confusion. “I don’t… she was right…”

He started moving again, head tracking back and forth. He stopped outside an open doorway; the hall was deserted.

“She was in there?” Foggy whispered, swallowing nervously.

Matt nodded, and pulled out his own flare. They inched forward together, Foggy straining to see around the corner. It was a chapel, he realised, the non-denomination type often found in hospitals.

They hesitated at the doorway, then Matt hurled himself around the corner, fists raised in a defensive stance. Foggy darted after him, heart in his throat.

The chapel was empty. All of the candles were out, the fluorescent lighting making the space seem stark and drab.

“What’s that,” Matt asked, “The paper on the floor?”

Foggy looked. There was a folded piece of white paper in the middle of the room, held down by an unlit candle. It was fluttering ever so slightly in the breeze from the air conditioning vent overhead.

Foggy eased into the room, Matt shadowing him closely. He picked up the paper and unfolded it. There were four hand written lines in flowing cursive.

He felt the blood drain from his face.

“Foggy?” Matt asked, fear making his voice rough.

Foggy cleared his throat and read aloud.

“ _Matthew, I’ve left a present for you above your little house, I do hope you enjoy it. You can stop your amusing charade with Nelson too; there’s no need to go to all this trouble. I’ll gladly take his throat out for you._ ”

Matt grabbed at him, eyes wide behind his glasses.

“I guess it worked,” Foggy said numbly. “Yay?”

He felt weirdly detached from his body. He frowned down at the note. There was something about it that felt…off. Besides the death threat. Heh.

Matt pulled the note out of his fingers, cupping Foggy’s hands between his own. They’d been shaking, Foggy realised.

“Foggy.” Matt’s tone implied it wasn’t the first time he’d said it. “Foggy, I will keep you safe. She’s not going to hurt you, I promise.”

Foggy nodded. “Right,” he said slowly. He closed his eyes and forced himself to take a couple of slow breaths.

Matt squeezed his hands, then let go, flipping the note over to run his fingertips over the words. He paused, frowned, and traced the words again.

“This isn’t Elektra’s handwriting.”

Foggy blinked at him. “It isn’t?”

Matt shook his head, then held the page up to his nose and inhaled deeply. His frown deepened. “Peppermint…”

“Not her scent?”

Matt breathed through his nose again. “No, it is, mostly, but underneath there’s something else.”

Foggy rubbed the back of his head, thinking. “Walk me through what you sensed, how did you know she was here?”

“She spoke,” Matt told him, turning the paper over to feel the blank side.

“What did she say?”

“She said, ‘Matthew darling, I have something for you’ and I could hear her heartbeat. It was her voice. It was her heartbeat.”

Foggy raised his eyebrows. “You can recognise a person’s heartbeat?”

Matt flushed, like Foggy had caught him doing something embarrassing. “It uh, depends on the person. I’d know hers anywhere.”

“Who else…” Foggy started to ask, then changed his mind. “Did she say anything else?”

Matt shook his head. “I was tracking her heartbeat, but there’s so many people in this damned building. I think I got her mixed up with someone else, was tracking the wrong person. When I realised, I couldn’t find her again.” He looked furious with himself about the lapse.

“Okay,” Foggy said, trying to gather his thoughts. “So, we go to your place. Maybe she’ll be there.”

Matt spun to face him, shocked. “What?! Foggy you can’t be serious.”

“I know it’s probably a trap, Matt, but what other option do we have?”

“No,” Matt waved a hand dismissively. “ _I’m_ going. _You_ are staying here.”

Foggy gaped at him. “Uh, no I’m fucking not!”

“You just said it, Foggy, it’s a trap! I’m not taking you into that, no Goddamned way.”

“That was the point of this whole thing, Matt, she was supposed to target me! You can’t change your mind now that it worked!” He crossed his arms, glaring at Matt furiously.

“I can’t fight if you’re there, Foggy, I can’t take her down if I’m protecting you.” Matt stepped forward with his hands up, pleading.

Foggy stepped backwards out of Matt’s reach. “You mean you can’t put yourself recklessly in danger to try and talk to her!”

A scowl broke through Matt’s imploring expression. “I’m not even sure it is her!”

“Whether it is or it isn’t, what happens if she comes back while you’re jaunting off to pick up her present?” Foggy demanded.

Matt stilled, face shocked.

“Didn’t consider that, did you?” Foggy snapped. Matt gave his head the tiniest shake.

Foggy sighed, anger deflating. “Come on Matty. We’ll do this together, we’ll watch each other’s backs, and we’ll walk out of this okay.”

Matt tilted his head, listening. “You really believe that,” he said, a statement not a question.

“I gotta believe that. Anything else and I wouldn’t be able to take one step out of this room. I’ll bring the positive attitude, you bring the kickass ninja skills, and we’ll get this done.”

Matt let out a sad breath of laughter. “That easy?”

Foggy offered him his elbow with a flourish. “That easy.”

Matt squeezed his eyes shut, took a controlled breath in and out, and took Foggy’s arm.

* * *

The walk to Matt’s apartment was surreal. New York bustled around them, a regular sunny workday. Foggy felt like they should be doing this at midnight in a graveyard, or at least an abandoned warehouse. He wished he’d brought his baseball bat.

They stopped when they were two blocks away, stepping out of the flow of traffic for Matt to listen intently. Foggy was sweating.

“Nothing,” Matt said tersely. “Let’s get closer.”

They were less than a block away when Matt’s face twitched, and he held up a hand, palm out.

“Cold,” he whispered, and Foggy clenched his teeth against his rising fear.

The entry to Matt’s building looking totally normal. Foggy had been half expecting more nightmarish blood splatters. Wordlessly, Matt unlocked the outer door, and they edged inside.

His heart was galloping away in his chest as they climbed the stairs.

“There’s blood,” Matt whispered. “Not a lot.”

Oh good, so long as there wasn’t a lot of it. Foggy smothered a hysterical laugh that threatened to become a scream.

They reached the sixth-floor landing, waiting at the top of the stairs while Matt inhaled. “Not the apartment,” he reported, still whispering. “The roof.”

They unlocked Matt’s door and stepped into his apartment. Foggy’s death grip on his flare was making his fingers ache, but he couldn’t get them to relax.

Matt stepped onto the first step of the roof access staircase, and Foggy had a wild urge to just grab him and _run._ The steps creaked under their feet.

Matt paused when they reached the top, breathing deeply with his hand on the door knob. Even Foggy could feel the cold now; there were droplets of condensation on the inside of the door.

“That easy,” Matt whispered like a prayer, and opened the door.

The cold air rushed forwards, enveloping them. Foggy shivered, eyes scanning the rooftop frantically. There was a cardboard box in direct view in the centre of the space.

“I can’t see anyone,” he whispered to Matt.

Matt’s nostrils flared as he cocked his head at the box. He was tense as a coiled spring.

The stepped onto the roof, Matt focused on the box, Foggy twisting every which way. The rooftop was empty; they were alone.

Matt stopped in front of the box. “Foggy… I can’t tell what...?”

Foggy stepped up behind him and peered over his shoulder.

_Holy shit._

“Holy shit!”

He recoiled, gagging on the bile rising in his throat.

“Foggy?!” Matt asked, alarmed.

“Don’t touch it!” Foggy warned. “God Matt, it’s a bunch of hands.”

Matt drew his hand back, horrified.

“Beautiful, yes?” said a voice, echoing from every direction.

Foggy gasped, and Matt spun, stepping into a fighting stance with his back to Foggy’s. Foggy looked around wildly, scrabbling with his flare and nearly dropping it.

There, on the edge! He snapped the end off his flare and it spluttered to life in his hands.

Spectre stood on the wall at the edge of the roof, black shadowy fire flickering around her silently. As Foggy watched, the shadows parted, swirling and retreating back to a point over the figure’s ear, then they were gone.

It _was_ Elektra.

Matt turned to face her, stepping in front of Foggy.

“They took everything from you,” Elektra said, rolling a hand towards the box. She grinned, baring her teeth. “So, I took everything from them.”

She looked almost exactly like Foggy remembered her from college, just a bit older. The clothes were different too; he’d only ever seen her in flattering, tailored, fashion pieces. Now she was wearing a tattered v-neck skivvy with a hood, loose sweat pants, a gaudy necklace on a long chain, several rings, and a diamond earring. All the clothes were too big for her, and her feet were bare.

Foggy held the flare out in front of himself and Matt, hands shaking.

“For my entire life, I worked towards a single purpose.” She jumped lightly off the wall, like a cat.

Matt made a noise low in his throat, muscles tensing.

“Serve the Hand. Serve life itself. Serve the Black Sky.” She stalked towards them slowly, accented voice rolling over the words.

Matt backed up, pushing Foggy back too. The heat from the flare was making Foggy’s eyes water, but he kept it pointed at her.

“Then you came along,” Elektra continued, stopping just outside the range of the shooting sparks. “And I learned the Black Sky was nothing compared to the Devil.”

Matt’s snarl had faded into a look of confusion as she spoke. “What?”

She turned her attention toward Foggy for the first time, lip lifting in a sneer. “You’ll see, Matthew. It should be no-one but us. You don’t need Nelson. Let me dispose of him for you.”

Matt threw an arm out in front of Foggy protectively. _Nelson,_ Foggy thought suddenly, remembering she’d called him that in the note too. In college she’d _always_ called him ‘Franklin’ specifically because she knew he hated it.

She laughed, the movement causing her necklace to glint in the sunlight. It was a thick brass medallion engraved with a swirling design. Foggy stared at it, and several puzzle pieces thunked into place at once.

“Matt. That’s not Elektra.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **horror sting music plays**
> 
> This chapter was a roller coaster! Sweet, sweet fake dating trope, Confused Foggy has evolved into Pining Foggy, and Spectre's identity is thrown into doubt again. The next chapter will be from Spectre's perspective, so this is your last chance lock in your guess on who the killer is before all is revealed! I'm assuming most of you will think the 'who' is fairly obvious (in a process of elimination way), if not the 'how'.
> 
> Tomorrow I'm going to do a double upload so you get Spectre and Matt's chapters at once, so be sure you don't accidentally skip one :)


	8. CHAPTER 8: SPECTRE

Oscar was only six, the first time he was betrayed. He’d trusted his parents, loved them with all his heart. Then they’d left. An “accident” they’d told him, but he knew better.

It was his lot in life, his undeserved destiny – to love those who ultimately proved unworthy.

After his parents, it was David, his foster brother. Oscar still hadn’t learned, back then, to be watchful. He trusted too much, and never saw the warning signs. David had seemed nice, sharing his toys, inviting Oscar to sit with him and his friends at school.

Still, it hadn’t taken much, for him to show his true colours, and Oscar should have known better. He’d been disrespectful of Oscar’s time, insisting they hang out with the other boys. All Oscar had asked was for it to be just the two of them. He still remembered the burning hurt in his chest when David had abandoned him.

That time, unlike with his parents, David was still around for Oscar to seek recompense. His foster parents were distraught; they thought they’d left the window latched. The aching hole in Oscar’s heart hadn’t quite been filled, looking down to the sidewalk at the boy who’d betrayed him, but it was about as close as he’d ever felt.

He considered giving up, at that point, sure he’d never find someone worthy of him. He was strong though, and he pressed on.

It was after his fifth attempt that Alexandra found him. He was sloppy; in his anger he hadn’t taken the time to make it look like an accident. Number five was a teacher at his school. She’d had golden hair and rosy lips and a voice like flowing silk. He was surprised when Alexandra helped him clean off the blood, and took him away.

With the Hand, he learned discipline, how to channel his rage and bury it deep. “Cold as ice” they called him, until the ice cracked. Then they didn’t call him anything.

Alexandra had been the one to tell him about the Black Sky. For the first time in a long, long time, he felt hope. Surely someone so powerful would be worthy of his love.

When his training was complete, the Hand sent him into the world. He learned a dozen languages, fell in love a dozen times. Everyone was disloyal, in the end, but he didn’t mind. He was used to it by now, and he had his heart set on the Black Sky.

He became a collector, sourcing occult artefacts for the Hand, tracking down deposits of the Substance. He kept the best for himself. A ring that struck fear in his enemy’s hearts, a white gem that wreathed his flesh in shielding black flame.

He grew in power and reputation, ever searching for the Black Sky, the only one who wouldn’t betray him. They’re close, Alexandra said, so close.

He was in Tibet, when the news came, tracking down an amulet to add to his collection, one that would allow him to mimic the flesh of others. He was plucking it off the previous owner’s corpse when the messenger found him. The Black Sky had come.

In his haste, he made mistakes, and he was delayed. At the time he was frustrated, but now he knew it was fate.

When he arrived in America, only whispers remained. The Black Sky was dead, they told him.

He pieced together the story from a thousand different fragments, wearing a thousand different faces to get what he needed. The medallion was everything he’d imagined it would be, allowing him to change his shape to make himself desirable to anyone he chose.

In the end, he found the truth. The Devil and the Black Sky went below together, and only the Devil came out. The Devil stole the Black Sky’s heart.

Oscar _knew_ then, that his search was at an end.

Finding the Devil was almost too easy, with the medallion. People will spill all their secrets to a familiar face, fools that they are.

Matthew.

He watched him from afar, with a new face every time. He was perfect; rage to match his own, all lithe grace and whirling fists. For the first time since he was a child, he let himself hope that this time his love wouldn’t betray him.

First though, he needed to purge the city of the worthless dregs who’d abandoned their purpose. Their deaths would serve both as a gift for his new love, and as a bit of light-hearted revenge against his former allies. It always fell to him to chastise the betrayers.

He started slowly, covering his tracks. He wanted it to be a surprise for Matthew, when they finally met. One by one, he worked his way through the Hand’s chaff.

He couldn’t help but stay close though. Watch, but don’t touch, not yet. The woman, Page, might be a concern; he discovered that she’d tried to capture his Devil once before. Matthew chose the Black Sky over her, though. Oscar took on her shape, the woman who his Devil had loved. He was confident he could convince Matthew to love him again.  

He was watching in the bar, when a new woman tried to steal his love. It wasn’t Matthew’s fault, not really. He didn’t know how close he was to meeting Oscar. Still, Oscar had to intervene, help steer his Devil away from a bad choice.

And he had to speed up his timeline.

He left the bar, whistling to himself. Soon there would be nobody standing between him and the man who would finally prove worthy of his love.

He couldn’t wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys. YOU GUYS. 
> 
> I am so goddamn blessed to have such awesome readers. I have been SO IMPRESSED by the little tiny clues you've picked up on.
> 
> Here are some honorable mentions:
> 
> jazzgazing noticed that Oscar smelt like toothpaste when Matt first met him, and connected that to the peppermint taste associated with Spectre.  
> ToastyCrumbs noted that Oscar's fingers were cold.  
> 94BottlesOfSnapple connected Elektra's necklace to the object Oscar picked up when the boys visited his apartment.  
> CamGiles went a step further and guessed correctly that the necklace was a Hand relic like Danny mentioned in his phone call.  
> Melon correctly guessed that the killer was a member of the Hand who had defected and was stalking Matt.  
> A fair number of you thought it was suspicious that Oscar wasn't attacked when Matt's other love interests were targeted so quickly, and thought he was far too breezy when the boys warned him that he was in danger.
> 
> Collectively, I think you guys got pretty much everything! Hats off to you all, you all have a promising career as detectives <3
> 
> I'm going to upload the next chapter tonight as well, but feel free to leave a comment here on how many of the above clues you noticed, or if there was any extra ones that you can see with the benefit of hindsight :D
> 
> Let's see how our boys fare against this S.O.B...


	9. CHAPTER 9: MATT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've uploaded two chapters at once today, so make sure you've read Chapter 8 from Spectre's point of view :)

“Matt. That’s not Elektra.”

Matt half turned towards Foggy, confusion swirling through his mind. “What?”

The second his attention wavered there was a sudden burst of cold and crippling terror, and Elektra disappeared from his senses so thoroughly that he’d have sworn she was never there. He staggered towards Foggy, forcing his legs to move despite the paralysing fear.

A blow impacted the side of his head with the force of an avalanche, knocking him sideways. His world tilted, concentration fuzzing. There were several quick steps on the concrete (Foggy moving?) and then a shrieking yell and the smell of burning flesh.

The cold dissipated in a rush, air turning humid, and his impression of Elektra sputtered in and out, there and then gone again. Foggy let out a pained cry, his heartbeat tangled up with Elektra’s and the roaring flare.

Matt collected himself with a snarl and kicked out viscously. He connected, knocking her backwards, and his perception of her snapped back into focus. Now that he could sense her, every move sounded _wrong._ Too heavy, too economical, too clinical. Elektra loved fighting, revelled in it; in a fight she was silk on steel, and her heart _sang._ This person didn’t move like her.

“Who are you?!” he snarled, standing in front of Foggy.

“So clever, of course you are,” she shuddered, voice breathless with pleasure. “With this, I am whoever you want me to be.”

There was a subtle clink of a delicate metal chain moving as she picked up something around her neck, then a ringing ping as she flicked a round metal disk on the end of the chain.

“That amulet, Matt,” Foggy hissed in his ear. He stepped up to stand shoulder to shoulder with Matt, gripping at his side but holding the flare high. “He had it, the guy from our building.”

_What?_

“…Oscar?”

“You prefer me like this?” There was a noise, like nothing he’d heard- something bubbling, or melting, with sharp, snapping cracks. At his side, Foggy recoiled, gripping at Matt’s arm and pulling him back a step. Matt let him, jaw dropping open.

Broad shoulders, exotic cologne, toothpaste on his breath – it was Oscar.

“Holy shit!”

“Foggy, what—”

“He just… she fucking melted, Matt, the disc glowed and it’s… it’s him now.”

Matt struggled to wrap his head around it. His life since donning the mask had gotten progressively less believable, but this was another level. _Shapeshifting?_

Oscar spread his hands, palms up. “Ta daa.”

“Why are you doing this?” Matt demanded.

Oscar made a humming noise. “For you of course, my darling.” He looked Matt up and down, obvious enough about it that Matt registered the motion. He resisted the urge to step backwards, bile rising in his throat.

Oscar’s voice dropped low, “I’ve been searching for you my whole life.”

“Oh my God, I was right about the stalker…” Foggy breathed, bordering on hysterical.

“You’ll see,” Oscar said, oozing smug confidence. “I am yours, in every sense, and you’ll be mine. Always.”

“Foggy,” Matt said, swallowing, “get another flare ready.”

Oscar laughed, loud and mocking. “Yes, Nelson, bring out your little fire.” He put a hand to his ear, fiddling with something – an earring? “This was one of the earliest pieces in my collection, from Norway. I’ve always loved the cold. It was such a fantastic match for me, thematically – the cleansing black fire.” He sighed, rolling a shoulder.

“The weakness to heat was an unfortunate aspect, but that’s the beauty of my collection.”

Matt heard the slide of his tongue as he licked his lips, and a metal clasp being undone.

“It’s ever adaptable.”

He dropped the earring—

—and launched at them.

He was inside Matt’s guard before he’d noticed the movement, laying him out with a jabbing elbow and a kick to Matt’s thigh. Matt dropped, catching himself and flipping back up, but Oscar kneed him in the face, setting his ears ringing. His arms trembled as he tried to push himself up again.

With a panicked yelp Foggy brandished the flare, but Oscar batted it out of his hands contemptuously. Foggy swung a fist wildly, and Oscar laughed as he stepped out of reach, causing Foggy to stumble.

“Admirable,” Oscar said, pulling – oh God, pulling a knife from his pocket and flicking it open. “Admirable, but ultimately pointless.”

 _MOVE,_ Matt screamed at his body, forcing himself to his feet.

Too late.

He threw himself forward just as Oscar lunged, and the knife flicked over Foggy’s face.

He could smell blood. Foggy’s blood.

“FOGGY!”

Matt used his momentum to shoulder Oscar into the ground, terror lending him strength. Foggy staggered, clutching at his face with a cry of pain. _No, no, no._

He wound back for a punch, but Oscar writhed like a snake in his grasp, laughing delightedly. He blocked Matt’s strike and drove him away with lightning quick jabs, flipping back onto his feet. He’d lost the knife when Matt tackled him, but he was faster than Matt could believe, faster than he’d thought possible.

“We are going to be _beautiful_ together, Matthew,” he purred when Matt snarled at him. “Just let me remove this little distraction.”

“Foggy, run!” Matt yelled, desperately redirecting the punches Oscar threw at him.

Foggy had dropped to his hands and knees, but Matt couldn’t spare the focus needed to tell how badly he was hurt.

Oscar got ahead of his blocks, opening up his defense and lining up a powerful kick that connected with Matt’s chest. He fell, trying to roll into it, but the concrete rushed up to meet him too quickly.

Oscar was already running to Foggy; Matt would never make it in time.

The knife! He snatched it off the ground, twisting around.

“STOP!”

Oscar grabbed a handful of Foggy’s hair, hauling him up.

“OSCAR!”

The man glanced up at him.

Matt held the knife to his own throat.

Everyone froze.

Matt adjusted his grip on the knife, panting heavily. “If you hurt him, you’ll never have me. Ever.”

Oscar stared at him, still holding Foggy half suspended by his hair. “…it was not a pretence.”

He shook the hand holding Foggy, making him whimper. “ _This_ is who you choose?”

Matt’s voice was steady. “Yes.”

Oscar dropped Foggy, reaching for his medallion. The crackling, melting sound echoed in Matt’s ears again, and then… it was Foggy.

“This is what you want?” It was Foggy’s voice. Foggy’s smell. Identical to the real Foggy groaning on the ground at Oscar’s feet.

“ _Matt.”_ Foggy mouthed the word so quietly that it was barely a breath of air. “ _I need you to get him away from me, just for a moment.”_

“Yes,” Matt said loudly. “That’s what I want.”

Oscar help up a hand, twisting it to examine it from different angles. “How baffling. Why?”

Matt swallowed. “He’s it for me. He just is.”

Oscar let out a disbelieving scoff. “I can give you so much more than him.”

He took a step towards Matt, away from Foggy.

“ _Further,”_ Foggy whispered.

“What can you give me that he can’t?” Matt asked, lowering the knife the barest distance.

Oscar took another step. “The world, Matthew. I can give you everything.”

Foggy stretched a hand across the ground, fumbling to pick something up. Matt heard the rasp of metal on the floor. Realisation dawned.

“Ah, that raises an incongruity…” Matt started to grin.

Foggy raised a hand to his ear.

“He already is my everything.”

In a rush of billowing cold air, Foggy disappeared from Matt’s senses.

A clatter, a tearing noise, and the amulet was ripped away from Oscar. He screamed, melting back into his real shape. Matt dropped the knife and lurched to his feet, unable to track what was happening.

Oscar’s scream cut off abruptly, and Matt could hear his feet drumming on the concrete, but no sound of him breathing. His heartbeat pounded frantically, then slowed to unconsciousness. 

Silence.

“…Foggy?” Matt reached forward, arms out and searching.

Nothing but the spluttering of the discarded flare, and Oscar’s slow heartbeat.

Ice clutched at his hands, smooth and painfully cold, then it resolved into Foggy’s hands and his voice cut in. “—kay, Matt, tell me you’re okay?”

Matt sank gratefully into to Foggy’s arms, gathering him up in a hug and burying his face in his neck. He took a shaking breath, breathing in the familiar scent.

“Matt?”

“I’m okay, Foggy. I’m okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh, Dramatic Love Confessions, my bread and butter.


	10. CHAPTER 10: FOGGY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> artbymintcookies did some [awesome fan art](http://theladyzephyr.tumblr.com/post/183834273882/artbymintcookies-so-i-was-reading) of the fight scene in the last chapter :D Check out their tumblr for lots of A+ mattfoggy artwork.

Foggy’s newly pierced ear and the gash Oscar had opened on his face were burning uncomfortably, but he couldn’t care in the slightest. Matt was there, safe in his arms and relatively unharmed, and that was about all that mattered right at that moment.

Matt seemed to be feeling just as intensely relieved, if the way he clutched at Foggy was any indication. They stood holding each other for long enough that it probably should have started to feel awkward. It didn’t.

Eventually Foggy registered the thought that he’d really like to take off Oscar’s creepy magic earring. Magic _earring,_ seriously, what the fuck were their lives coming to? Matt sensed the thought somehow, drawing back a little and straightening up. Foggy had to stop himself making a noise of protest as Matt pulled back.

“You’re hurt,” Matt said, fingers skimming gingerly over Foggy’s face.

Foggy let go of Matt and tried to get his shaking fingers to grasp the earring, but it was slippery with his blood. Matt did it for him, face crumpling with concern when Foggy choked on a pained breath.

“Thanks,” Foggy said, trying to stop his voice from trembling. “That was the weirdest fucking feeling.”

Matt slipped the earring into his pocket, then raised his hand again to prod gently at Foggy’s ear. “What was it like?”

“Like…” Foggy considered. “Like it was sucking something out of me.” He shuddered. “It wasn’t a nice feeling, Matt. But… fuck it was easy.”

Matt took a purposeful breath. “Easy?”

Foggy nodded. “Too easy. That thing’s bad news, Matty. What are we gonna do with it?”

Matt’s lips pulled to the side. He still had one hand on Foggy’s neck and the other tracing over his ear. “We give it to Danny and Colleen. The medallion too.”

“And what are we gonna do with him?” Foggy jerked his head at Oscar’s prone form.

The question seemed to remind Matt of their surroundings. He stepped back, turning to face the unconscious killer, and his expression hardened. “We call Brett, and figure it out from there.”

Matt reached down and picked up the medallion from around Oscar’s neck, running his hand over the design.

“We should take that off him first,” Foggy said. “I don’t want to explain a shapeshifting ninja killer to the NYPD.”

Matt pulled the medallion off, not bothering to be gentle. He cocked his head and inhaled through his nose. “He’s got more jewellery; several rings, a bracelet. Something in his jacket pocket too.”

Foggy crouched down to look at the rings. They didn’t look like anything special, just two plain silver bands, one slightly thicker than the other, a delicate gold ring shaped like plaited rope, and a chunky black ring with roughly hewn facets.

Foggy reached out to move Oscar’s hand, trying to see what material the black ring was made from. The instant his finger touched the ring a familiar burst of terror thrummed through him. He cringed, throwing up his hands. Matt yelled, wrapping an arm around Foggy’s waist and tugging him back against his side protectively.

The fear dissipated as quickly as it’d appeared, leaving them both panting harshly and clutching at each other. Matt cleared his throat and let go, ducking his head in embarrassment.

Foggy laughed shakily. “That was a bit Scooby and Shaggy of us.”

That brought Matt’s smile back. “Am I the dog in this scenario?”

Foggy put on his best Shaggy voice. “Like look, Scoob, turns out the ghost was just the art dealer all along!”

Matt laughed, shaking his head fondly.

“Okay,” Foggy said, stepping back up to Oscar again. “Lesson learnt. Do not touch the creepy occult magic jewellery.”

They divested the unconscious Oscar of every piece they could find, using Foggy’s suit jacket as a makeshift glove. In total, Oscar had the earring, the medallion, four rings, a bracelet, a lump of what looked like melted glass from his pocket, and a rusty coin tucked into his shoe. Foggy tied it all into a bundle in his jacket, careful not to touch anything.

They stashed the bundle in a duffle bag in Matt’s closet with his Daredevil gear, then called Brett. Foggy’s childhood frenemy told them to sit tight, and they settled in to wait for the police.

Foggy paced, trying to ignore the throbbing from his face. The sun was still beating down on them, uncomfortably hot.

Matt stood against the wall. He was a mess; face marred by a constellation of bruises and dried blood, and hair in disarray. As Foggy watched, he closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the bricks. A bead of sweat glistened in the sun, leaving a channel in the grime as it ran down Matt’s throat.

Foggy realised he was staring, and tore his gaze away. Matt’s words from earlier were ringing in his memory. _He already is my everything._

“They’re here,” Matt reported. Foggy risked a look – he was focused down at the street below, head cocked to the side.

Foggy nudged Oscar with his toe. “He’s still unconscious?”

Matt nodded. “They’re coming up the stairs now.”

Foggy jittered, shifting his weight. _Come on Brett, so close._

“Okay, here they come, start acting terrified.”

“I _am_ terrified.”

Brett and an assembly of assorted police personnel burst onto the roof, and they were swept up in a wave of activity. They gave their statements – Oscar had ambushed them on the roof, but luckily Daredevil had arrived to save them.

Foggy’s exhaustion started catching up to him, and he struggled to stay focused. He zoned out while someone cleaned and butterfly stitched his wound, watching them carry Oscar out Matt’s door. Brett assigned an officer to take them to Foggy’s apartment; Matt surreptitiously grabbed the duffle bag out of his wardrobe before they left. Sitting in the back of a squad car with the Daredevil suit wedged between him and Matt was… an experience.

The officer left them at Foggy’s door, and Foggy finally felt himself relax.

He collapsed onto his couch. “Oh, thank fuck.”

He tried to lean forward and rest his head in his hands, but his finger caught on one of the butterfly bandages, tearing it free. “Ow.”

Matt was at his side in an instant, tracing gently around the wound. “You reopened it.”

He was… very close. Foggy stared. Had Matt meant the things he’d said to Oscar? Was he just taunting him to keep him busy while Foggy grabbed the earring?

Matt took a breath, hesitated, then made a face like he’d changed his mind. “I can redo it, wait there.” He got up, and fished around in his bag, pulling out a travel-sized first aid kit.

Foggy kept his mouth shut; he didn’t trust himself not to blurt out something stupid. Matt’s lips were pressed together unhappily, but he didn’t say anything either. He knelt beside Foggy again, opening the kit and sorting through the supplies with practised ease.

The silence was getting awkward.

“I hope they keep the restraints on him,” Foggy said.

“They will,” Matt replied, “Brett knows what he’s capable of.”

Matt tore a piece of gauze out of it’s packaging, and slid closer to Foggy on the couch. He started dabbing carefully around Foggy’s wound.

Foggy hissed in pain when Matt pressed lightly at the cut, then immediately apologised. “Sorry.”

“I think that’s my line,” Matt said with a wry smile.

They fell silent again while Matt worked, cleaning the area and reapplying the butterfly. Foggy worried at the memory of Matt’s words like a loose tooth. He’d never felt this awkward around Matt, not even after he found out about Daredevil.

“Can you… can you talk to me?” Matt said when the silence stretched too long. He had his martyr face on, studiously blank.

Foggy’s embarrassment flared. God, Matt could probably sense what a creep he was being right now. “Talk to you?”

Matt stopped fussing at Foggy’s face, brows drawn together in distress. “I can’t… what are you thinking, Fog?”

Foggy dithered. “You can’t tell?”

“I’m not a mind reader, Foggy.”

“Did you mean what you said?”

Shit, he hadn’t meant to say that.

Matt clenched his jaw, shoulders hunched as he drew away from Foggy. “I…”

Foggy tried not to buckle under the wave of disappointment.

Matt closed his eyes, swallowed, then opened them again. “What if I did?”

… _what??_

“It’s alright Foggy,” Matt said quickly, plastering on a pathetically fake smile, “I know you’re not interested in a relationship with a man.”

Foggy’s heartbeat was deafening in his own ears, he couldn’t imagine what it sounded like to Matt.

“I knew you were straight,” he began slowly, struggling to find the words.

Matt huffed out a harsh bark of laughter, turning away. “Categorically incorrect, counsellor.”

Foggy shook his head, frustrated. “No, Matt, I mean there is a precedent here for falsely assuming someone doesn’t want a relationship with a dude despite knowing them for nearly a decade.”

Matt blinked, and Foggy watched his face as he digested that information. Then his expression went slack with realisation, and he turned back to Foggy.

“Falsely…?” he whispered.

Foggy was grinning so wide that it made his gash sting, but he couldn’t spare a single fuck.

“Let the record show that one Franklin Nelson, proven to be nowhere near as straight as initially assumed, is irrevocably, unequivocally, explicitly interested in a relationship with a man.”

Matt’s wonderous smile was bright enough to be blinding as Foggy continued.

“Specifically, he is interested in a relationship with one Matthew Murdock; best friend, hero and good man.”

“ _Foggy,”_ Matt breathed, voice cracking.

He grabbed two handfuls of Foggy’s shirt, tugging him close, and met him in a kiss.

Foggy’s eloquence fled in the face of the electric thrill that trembled through him. Matt’s lips slid over his, rough and a little frantic, and he couldn’t help the moan that slipped out when Matt nipped at his lower lip.

“Yeah,” he said breathlessly as Matt kissed the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, “definitely not straight.”

Matt made a humming growl, nosing Foggy’s collar out of the way and biting gently at his neck.

“Fuck,” Foggy stuttered, grabbing at Matt clumsily, “ _Matty…”_

Matt stilled, muscles freezing, and Foggy had a split second of confusion before there was flurry of motion and he found himself on his back, pinned to the couch. _Oh._

“Call me that again,” Matt demanded, pressing down on him.

Foggy rolled his hips, head falling backwards. A shudder went through Matt’s whole body, doing delightful things in the many places he was pressed up against Foggy, and Matt squeezed his eyes shut.

Foggy pulled him down for another searing kiss.

Yup, _definitely_ not straight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo, FINALLY boys! We're in the home stretch now folks, only two chapters to go!


	11. CHAPTER 11: MATT

Matt was at least halfway convinced that he was somehow dreaming. Vigilante justice, bulletproof allies, dragon bones and untraceable, shapeshifting murderers he could handle. Lying in bed with Foggy, with his best friend snoring contentedly into the bare skin of Matt’s chest? Beyond the realm of possibility.

He swept a hand along Foggy’s soft curves, revelling in the feeling.

Fuck it, if he was dreaming he never wanted to wake up.

Foggy made a sleepy humming sound, and stretched, his heartbeat speeding to wakefulness.

Matt smiled. “Good afternoon, counsellor.”

Foggy shivered. “Damn it Matt, you can’t keep using your court room voice on me, it’s going to make our next trial incredibly awkward.”

“You make an excellent point, Mr. Nelson.” Matt slid a hand under Foggy’s jaw. “But I have some new evidence to submit that I think you’ll find persuasive as a counter-argument.” He kissed him, soft and sweet. Then he bit at Foggy’s swollen lips; not so sweet.

Foggy’s heart lurched gratifyingly. “Oh, shut up,” he grumbled when Matt grinned into the kiss.

_“Karen. Karen. Karen.”_ Matt’s phone rang, still somewhere in the lounge room with their haphazardly discarded clothes.

“Shit,” Matt pulled away from Foggy. “What time is it?”

“Hmm?” Foggy looked at his watch. “Oh shit, it’s nearly six.”

Brett had arrested Oscar over five hours ago.

“Karen’s calling,” Matt told Foggy, disentangling himself from the sheets. He jogged into the living room, pawing at his pants to find the pocket with the phone in it. He fished it out and answered.

“Karen—”

“Where the hell are you?!” Karen demanded. “Is Foggy with you?”

“Err—”

“I just saw on the news, on the _news,_ that they’ve arrested the Spectre!” Her voice was tight and trembling with fury. “And I thought, oh God, Matt and Foggy must be hurt, because there’s _no way_ they’d neglect to tell me if they were facing down a supernaturally powered serial killer!”

Matt cringed. “Karen, we—”

“So I called Brett!” Karen continued, talking over him. “And he tells me that he spoke to you when he arrested the murderer. Six. Hours. Ago.”

She lapsed into reproachful silence.

“I’m sorry Karen,” Matt said with a wince. “We should have called you, we just…”

He searched for the words. Somehow he didn’t think ‘we were too busy wrecking Foggy’s apartment in a lust fuelled fervour’ would be taken well. Foggy entered the room, coming to sit next to him on the couch.

“You just _what_ , Matt?” she asked, obviously aiming for angry but unable to mask the hurt.

Guilt pressed on his chest. “Karen,” he tried again, but Foggy tugged the phone of his fingers.

“Karen, hi.”

“Foggy! Where the hell have you both been?”

“It’s alright Karen, we’re both okay,” Foggy kept his voice soothing. “We’re a little scratched up, but nothing serious.”

Karen’s sigh of relief crackled over the phone line.

“We’ll come up to the hospital now and explain everything,” Foggy told her. “As for where we’ve been…”

He hesitated, turning to Matt. Matt nodded.

“… uh, do you remember that thing you asked if I’d ever done, and I said I hadn’t?”

There was silence for several moments, then Karen said “ _What?!”_ Whatever she’d been expecting Foggy to say, it clearly wasn’t that.

“Yeah, so uh, we did the thing.” There was a bloom of heat from Foggy’s face. “Rather enthusiastically. We, uh, got a bit distracted.”

Another beat of silence, then Karen started laughing.

“Sorry,” Foggy said, cheeks still burning.

“Foggy _Nelson,_ ” Karen said, voice shaking with mirth. “I am still so mad at you both, but get your asses down here so I can hug you, and possibly throw something at you.”

Karen accepted the news about the Spectre’s identity, and his collection of supernatural artefacts, with remarkable aplomb. She was less blasé about how close they’d both come to being hurt; Foggy was more forthcoming with the details of their fight with Oscar than Matt would have been on his own.

The hospital released her that evening; the tendons in her arm weren’t as badly damaged as they’d feared, and they predicted she’d make a full recovery. The three of them went back to Foggy’s apartment to wait for news from Brett. They didn’t have long to wait; Brett called when they were divvying up Thai for dinner.

Oscar was awake, furious, and demanding to see Matt.

“Good news,” Brett said through Foggy’s speakerphone, “the idiot confessed nearly as soon as he woke up. Bad news, during that confession he dedicated his actions to you, Murdock.”

Matt pressed his lips together. That complicated things.

“Did he mention…” he asked, leaving the question open. _Did he out me as Daredevil?_

Brett understood what he meant. “He didn’t. But you’ll need to come in and answer some questions.”

They put their Thai in Foggy’s fridge and hurried to the station. Matt didn’t even try to suggest that Foggy and Karen stay at home.

He was honest with the police about his initial encounters with Oscar; running into him outside the office, Oscar returning to bring him coffee. He even told them about visiting Oscar’s hotel, just in case they’d been seen by the hotel’s security cameras.

The cops were thorough, but not overly suspicious with their questioning. They’d obviously pegged Matt as the hapless victim of an unstable stalker. He did his best to reinforce their opinion, stammering more than normal and dialling up his fumbling.

He lingered outside the reception desk with Foggy and Karen when he’d been released, waiting for a moment when Brett was alone.  

He needed to speak to Oscar.

“Not possible,” Brett hissed at him, keeping his voice low.

“I need to talk to him, Brett,” Matt insisted.

“Don’t forget,” Foggy added, “if he talks, you’re just as screwed as we are.”

Brett ground his teeth. “You three are a pain in my ass, you know that?”

“We’re very grateful for your assistance, Detective Mahoney.” Matt could hear the grin in Karen’s voice.

Brett rubbed at his brow. “Fine, Jesus, fine. I can spin it as a tactic to get him to divulge further info. You better hope nobody objects, though, because that’s a piss-poor excuse.”

Matt had to fight against the urge to shift into a defensive stance as he walked down the hall towards Oscar’s interrogation room. He could hear Oscar’s heartbeat; it was steady and controlled.

Oscar let out a startled exhale when Brett stepped into the room, revealing Matt in the doorway.

“Matthew.” His tone was conversational, like they’d met accidentally on the street. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“You got this, Matty,” said Foggy’s voice, muffled on the other side of the one-way glass, but still easily audible to Matt.

He drew a breath, steadying himself, and stepped into the room. “Oscar.”

“I see you’ve discarded your little parasite,” Oscar said breezily. Matt’s fists clenched.

Brett leant against the wall and folded his arms, staying out of the conversation but watching warily.

Oscar inclined his head in Brett’s direction. “Get me out of these chains and help me tear through his spinal column, and I’ll show you what real love is like.”

Jesus. The hairs on the back of Matt’s neck stood up, and he repressed a grimace.

“What’s your plan, Oscar?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

Oscar laughed. “I am going to escape my prison, slaughter anyone who tries to stop me, and convince you of the truth.” He spread his hands, palms up. “It’s not complicated.”

Brett’s heartrate sped up, and he shifted his hand to rest on his holster. “Just try it, asshole.”

Oscar ignored him, studying Matt. “Oh, I see,” he said, leaning backwards, “you’re concerned I might speak to the police about the Devil who has my heart.”

Matt clenched his jaw and let his silence be his answer.

“You needn’t worry, dearest, I’ve nothing to gain from sending the dogs to nip at your heels. I want you nearby when I’m ready to leave.”

Matt considered his words before replying. “What if I wanted you to stay?”

Oscar laughed again. “Matthew, please, I’m not so easily manipulated. I know you don’t see what I see between us yet.” He made a shooing gesture. “Toddle along now, I’ll come and find you when I’m done here.”

Matt took a moment to tamp down the urge to punch the man in his smiling teeth, then turned and left the room.

* * *

“He sounded so confident,” Karen insisted, her voice carrying into the bedroom from Foggy’s living room.

Matt slid into his heavy boots, cinching the laces snuggly.

“What could he possibly do?” Foggy asked, though he sounded troubled. “He’s chained hand and foot to a table bolted to the ground, and Brett’s put a squad of uniforms on watching him.”

“I don’t know,” Matt said, exiting the bedroom, “but I’m not going to chance it.” He pulled a rope from his bag, and started winding it around his hand, criss-crossing back and forth.

Foggy’s phone buzzed, still on silent from the precinct. “It’s Brett…” he told them, and answered.

“Is he still there?” Brett asked.

“Uh, yes?”

“Been with you and Karen the whole time?”

Matt frowned.

“Brett…” Foggy asked.

“Has he been with you since I saw you leave?” Brett’s voice was flat.

“Yes, he’s been with us the whole time.”

Karen made a questioning noise.

_“Fuck.”_ The curse was muffled, like Brett had turned aside to say it.

Foggy’s heartrate was accelerating. “Brett, what happened?”

“Oscar Bardell is fucking dead, that’s what happened.”

Matt dropped the rope he was holding, blood draining from his face.

“ _What?!”_ Foggy choked out. “How?!”

“Put it on speaker!” Karen demanded. “What happened?”

Foggy swiped at his screen as Brett replied.

“Somebody got past an entire precinct full of cops, and chopped off his fucking head, that’s how!”

Matt’s heart lurched in his chest. “Who…” he asked, voice trembling. He knew. Knew before Foggy repeated the question, knew before Brett answered.

“A woman with dark hair. Went through our people like wind scattering leaves, didn’t hurt anyone worse than bruises. Half the force is out looking for her now.”

_Elektra._

“They won’t find her,” he said, snatching the mask out of his bag.

“Matt!” Karen cried, looking between him and Foggy. “You can’t…”

Matt fastened the mask over his eyes.

“Brett,” Foggy said, heartbeat thundering, “I’ll call you back.” He hung up on Brett’s protest. “Matt…”

The sad longing in his voice made Matt’s heart ache.

“Foggy…” he stepped up and put his hands on either side of Foggy’s face, “…I have to go. But I’ll be back.” He pressed a kiss to his lips. “I _promise_ you. I’ll be back.”

Foggy squeezed his eyes shut. Matt smelt the salt of tears.

Foggy nodded.

Matt kissed him one last time, then turned to the window.

“Matt, don’t you dare—” Karen started, outraged, but he was slipping out before she finished her sentence.

“MATT!” Her shout chased him as he scaled the side of Foggy’s building and pulled himself onto the roof.

He raced across the rooftops back towards his apartment, barely feeling the dull ache of his injuries. As soon as he was in range he cast his focus outwards, straining his senses to the limit.

She was waiting for him on top of his building.

She smelled like her, just her, with no peppermint.

He stopped, panting, balanced on the wall across from her. The city buzzed below them; overlapping voices, the hum of cars, looping sirens. It smelt like it was going to rain. “Elektra.”

She didn’t turn to him. “Hello, Matthew.”

“You… you’re alive.”

“I am.”

There were a million questions bubbling in his throat. He was afraid to hear the answers to most of them. He swallowed against his dry throat, and chose a relatively safe one.

“You killed Oscar?”

She rolled her shoulders and raised her chin. “I did.”

“Why?”

She tilted her head. “Consider it a farewell gift.”

He wasn’t surprised. “You’re leaving.”

She nodded. “And you are staying.”

Neither of them made it into a question. The wind shifted, ruffling through Elektra’s hair and tossing her coat. A siren wailed as it sped by, then faded again.

“Are you happy?” she asked him softly.

He thought of Foggy, and Karen, their shabby office with the peeling paint. Foggy tucked under his arm and snoring on his chest.

“Yes.” He let his confidence thread through his voice.

“Good.”

She turned away and walked to the edge of the rooftop, steps sure and quick as a prowling lioness, then she paused.

“Goodbye, Matthew.”

His heart ached. “Goodbye, Elektra.”

She left.

He didn’t follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mattfoggy has my heart but I am also firmly team Elektra-deserved-better <3


	12. CHAPTER 12: FOGGY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting two chapters at once since this one is so short - make sure you don't accidentally skip one :)

Foggy sat numbly at his dining table, turning an empty glass over and over in his hands.

He didn’t know how the fuck to feel.

Oscar was dead – threat eliminated. No-one else would be hurt, he and Karen and Brett and everyone were safe.

But Matt was gone. Again.

_I promise you. I’ll be back._

He wanted so badly to believe Matt. So, so Goddamned badly. But his gut was churning with fear, and his tongue felt too heavy in his mouth.

Karen wasn’t helping. She kept shooting him worried looks when she thought he wasn’t looking, clearly remembering, like Foggy, when she’d been the one Matt left behind to chase Elektra.

He’d thought… but they hadn’t really said anything definitive about what they were, had they? Matt didn’t do long term, he’d never done long term. Maybe Foggy had seen what he wanted to see.

He clunked the glass down onto the table, too forcefully. Karen flinched.

“Foggy…”

“I’m going to bed,” he said before she could continue. “You want the couch?”

She hesitated, then nodded. They cleared away the remainder of the Thai food, neither speaking.

He felt like such an idiot.

He left Karen to set up the linens on the couch, and collapsed onto his bed fully clothed. He stared up at his ceiling, letting his eyes adjust to the dark.

“He’ll come back,” he whispered to himself.

It felt too much like what he’d told himself the day Matt hadn’t shown up for the Castle trial. Or when they’d closed Nelson and Murdock. Or when he’d passed Matt the Daredevil suit in the hallway of the police precinct, before he ended up in Midland Circle.

_But he did,_ a more optimistic part of him thought. All those times, he did come back. All Foggy had had to do was wait.

How long was he willing to keep waiting for Matthew Murdock?

There was a clatter, and the sound of his lounge room window sliding open. Karen gasped.

How long? As long as it fucking took.

Foggy sat up, waiting. Karen said something indistinct, her voice low and urgent.

The door opened. Matt was still wearing the mask, silhouetted from the light behind him. He tugged it off, letting it fall to the floor. Foggy took a shaky breath.

Matt moved, crossing the room in three quick strides, and gathered him up in a bruising kiss.

The knot in Foggy’s chest loosened and broke away. Matt held him, too tightly, and Foggy clung right back, clutching a handful of Matt’s shirt.

_“Foggy,”_ Matt breathed. “Foggy, I would never…” He made an anguished sound, kissing Foggy again. Then he pulled back, doing his best to look Foggy in the eye. His hair was fluffy and sticking up all over the place, and his eyes were wide and earnest.

“Foggy Nelson. I am not going anywhere, unless you’re coming with me.” He gave Foggy a little shake.

“I love you, Foggy.”

Oh. _Oh._

“ _Matt_.” He yanked him forward for another kiss, happiness swelling in his heart like a balloon. He wondered what it sounded like to Matt. “Matt, you are insufferable, infuriating, and more than a little insane.” He grinned. “And I love you, too.”

Matt Murdock? Definitely worth the wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all, beautiful readers, for sharing this story with me! I had so much fun writing it, and seeing all your comments swapping theories and cheering our boys on has brought me such joy.
> 
> I don't think I'm done in this fandom yet, so watch this space for more mattfoggy stories in the future. I'm pretty active on tumblr and discord right now, and am always up for making new fandom friends :)
> 
> Love to you all!  
> ~Zee

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me [on tumblr](http://theladyzephyr.tumblr.com/) as theladyzephyr- come yell at me about these avocados :)


End file.
